


silage

by Livali



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, Greek God Au!, aoi as persephone, byakuya as athena, it's actually a greek god au + modern au fusion but uh. yeah, kyoko as hades, that's all i'm giving away :)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-12 06:55:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28631352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Livali/pseuds/Livali
Summary: Kyoko looks at her then, really looks at her, doesn’t turn away or run; she lets it be, lets Aoi draw close to her with expectation, insinuation. And she’s staring at Aoi like she’s gone, like she loves her, like she’s given up. It will rain, she’s saying, there’s the sound of thunder, there’s the clap of lightning. It reminds me of something. (You.)(I’ve seen enough of death, Hades says. Sometimes, I just want to feel alive.)or;There are many names in history. Some are ours.
Relationships: Asahina Aoi/Kirigiri Kyoko, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Naegi Makoto/Togami Byakuya
Comments: 9
Kudos: 16





	silage

**Author's Note:**

> i worked on this since november lol
> 
> for this story, i'm following the english localization and not using honorifics in this one for thematic reasons. also, disclaimers. as mythology is fluid and constantly evolving, i'm taking loose and creative liberties of the hades/persephone myth by making things up as i go and as i see fit.
> 
> if you’re reading with context of the original myth in mind, then you can try to slate that away. the original context can be a bit unfortunate, and if you’ve got no idea i'm referring to persephone being taken against her will, so i'll do something about that. treat it like a love letter. myths can be retold time and time again with different listeners and tellers, and that’s how it changes and evolves! i'm just doing the same. lastly, for the sake of your enjoyment and convenience just ignore that japan + greek myth is a wide reach lmao
> 
> last notes: naegami appears around 6k words. there's also nothing graphic. another important caveat; two chapters! i've never done that before. if i don’t post it within two weeks, you can break into my house and hold me accountable. i hope you enjoy reading.
> 
> insp: written entirely to starset, written by wolves and of monsters and men.

She gives Kyoko Kirigiri flowers on the last day of winter.

The moment spills over with an odd sort of awe that radiates from her, and the nervous churning in her stomach that causes the fingers on her hand (the one not holding the flowers, instead, the one positioned straight down to her side) to jerk and flutter. The petals press softly against her palms, somewhat leaning into her touch. Aoi smiles at her politely, and privately thinks that the bouquet of flowers (the color of Kyoko’s hair) was not the prettiest sight in front of her.

It’s a meeting that seems only barely avoidable; Aoi works in a flower shop, pursuing her strange and unexplainable interest in botany while occasionally sub-coaching for swimming and volleyball at a nearby university. Kyoko is at first, a stranger that comes in around three noon, walking around like any other customer and presumably looking for a purchase.

Aoi’s carrying cases full of asphodels and lilies as she does, but the white petals in front of her—sticking out every which way to the point her vision is worryingly obscured (it’s okay, she knows her way around) still brush against her cheek, and Kyoko—who she only sees when it’s too late—doesn’t easily swerve away in the same way as the form carrying them, barrelling around the counter without any particular concern or hesitation. The collocation doesn’t end there, because her stream of ‘sorry sorry!’ and expletives are an antithesis to what follows it: a quiet, one-worded apology that somehow sounds and feels sincere, despite the rivulet of her lingering profanities.

The words float in the air and settle low somewhere underneath her skin, digging and crawling through her nerves like slugs. The reverberation behind them feels like a comfort she can almost remember. Her chest feels warm.

The thought, she realizes, hardly makes any sense. However, she barely has any time to consider its origin and meaning when it first hits her, because it’s followed immediately by a strong scent—something like steel in an ocean and it’s strong and overwhelming and familiar—to the point that the world turns over on itself, shifts the seasons, reshapes the ground below her.

“Ah, sorry again.”

Most of the woman’s face is at first, obscured by her flowers (Aoi can see her more clearly now that said flowers were stationary, and, well, on the floor: pretty, long-stemmed, and white, bright centers with yellow tips). But even before so, her long lavender hair cascades outside of the boundaries of the mass of stems. Aoi finds herself briefly distracted again, this time by the one single braid at the side and the color glinting among the strands, reflecting the sun. But then the woman moves—an attempt to stand across the flowers—and with the motion, the strong scent hits her and it’s all she’s left ever thinking about once more.

Aoi blinks slowly, trying to snap herself out of the moment. Not that she succeeds in doing so (she doesn’t). “Are you… okay?”

“What are _those_?”

“What’s what?” Aoi laughs and finally picks the flowers back up, and the small smile that appears in response to her question is one she can’t tell apart from a clear night sky on the last autumn day. “These are just the last stock of lilies and they’re on sale this week so I’m bringing them out and— _wow_.”

She can’t pinpoint the exact reason and moment for the change, but as soon as she stops, something rises inside the woman’s eyes (the color of the sky on a 6:30 sunset on the first day of May) widen when they first meet Aoi’s. The astonishment wipes away the stranger’s smile, but it returns quickly, stronger and more authentic than the last.

“Lilies,” the woman starts, sounding oddly out of breath. “What do those mean?”

“To sum it up, it means purity, death and rebirth.” she responds silently, meeting the stranger’s gaze.

“I… see.”

“Have I—“ (have I seen you before?) “Where—where have _you_ been?”

Aoi’s a college graduate—one who’s been to frat parties and bars and clubs to make a friend feel less lonely—so she’s heard and said the line before (or something like it, with ‘all my life’ or a similar variation added at the end), and it can sound funny at the right time, but at the moment it sounds… horribly cheesy, even for her, but there’s nothing to say other than that, honestly.

(Later, she finds that the emphasis was in the wrong spot, the tone out of place, and the emotion behind it something even she herself can’t describe.)

The reply she’s expecting—which is the most confusing thought for today so far because she shouldn’t be placing grand expectations on strangers—is _I was_ _waiting for you_.

“I—excuse me?” The woman says instead. She shifts a bit—as though to give herself a better view—and the warm leather of her coat, the wool around the collar, belongs on her frame as much as the dark purple belongs around her neck (a comfortable scarf, its color the same one as her eyes).

Aoi places her cargo aside, safely on the counter, then runs a hand through her hair awkwardly. “Right—uh—February’s the busiest time of the month. I’m a local here and I’ve never seen you around here before, so like, I’m pretty sure I would’ve seen you at some point if you lived here. Where have you _been_?”

“Not here, obviously.” She responds quickly, smiles, and Aoi can’t help but stare for a bit. “I didn’t see any reason to go until today.”

“Yeah, I could’ve guessed.” Aoi laughs, and the woman looks as if she isn’t sure whether to be offended by it or not, but Aoi continues, long before she herself can decide how to feel about this conversation. “This city _is_ a big place, after all.”

“It is.”

“So what’re you looking for? I’m not just your average stay-behind-the-register guy, you know?” She brushes past her, waves a hand, then starts arranging the lilies. “Botany’s kind of my thing, I’ll help you out—or are you fine with looking on your own?”

“Botany?” The stranger looks as if she wasn’t expecting it—but she looks to be considering it a little, and finally nods, appearing to deem it appropriate. (Aoi feels like the both of them should be questioning why they know what feels right or appropriate, but they don’t do such.) “And I think I’m okay with asking for your opinion, actually.”

“Yeah, plants and flowers are like, my jam. Even if I have no idea why.” She grins, and lifts a bucket of daffodils next to her to prove her point. “And that’s good to hear. Look at these. Cool, right?”

“What are they? They look—”

“—pretty cute? They totally are.” Aoi laughs again; a wind, a breeze, one powerful enough to bend everything towards down below—as for what’s below, she doesn’t know yet. “These guys are amazing winter flowers. Also nice on early spring. They don’t like the cold too much though, so the temp’s kind of regulated in here.”

The woman stares at her for a second, like she’s debating not only what to say but if to answer at all. She says carefully, “I was going to say something else, but thank you. Those _are_ nice flowers.”

_Something else_. It’s a phrase that sounds like it has a meaning, or it should, but for now it doesn’t hold enough water to Aoi. She says, “Oh, okay,” not able to understand what the girl means. “Um.”

The girl doesn’t notice her lack of comprehension, brushes right by the brief pause and stares at a nearby selection of peonies and primroses. “Hm?” She asks idly.

Aoi raises a single eyebrow, more confused at the situation than anything else. “Something else?” she repeats, torn between questioning and _hopeful_ , for some weird reason. “What do you mean?”

“Ah, right. Sorry.” The girl says mysteriously, eyes momentarily glancing right back at her before staring ahead again, whimsically waving a hand. “It’s nothing.”

“Uh—sure. Okay.” She says, nervously bouncing on the balls of her feet.

“Of course.”

“Yeah, yeah. Anyway, what’re you exactly looking for?” Aoi laughs a bit. This girl’s already in the running for one of the strangest people she has ever met, but in spite of this, she doesn’t feel as if she should ignore her and continues engaging her regardless.

“I’m looking for—” _You,_ Aoi somehow thinks of, but banishes the thought before it becomes more whole. “Something simple. A friend mentioned my apartment could use a little more than what it is—and recommended me this place.”

“Oh, are they a regular here or something? Maybe I know who they are.”

“They just passed by here one to two times. I don’t think you do.”

“Wow, okay then.” She barely recognizes the laugh that leaves her own lips. “Not my loss. Wait, hold on—I think _maybe_ you’ll like,” she puts a hand to her chin, and then points at the bucket of lilacs across the store. “Those. They match you!”

“Can’t say I didn’t expect that.” The stranger quips, but Aoi finds that her smile reaches her eyes. She feels her own aching at the sight of it.

“I mean, they’re pretty flowers for a pretty girl. Perfect match, _boom._ ” She brings over the bucket and tips it forward, one of them slides softly against the woman’s cheek. She doesn’t seem to mind, leaning towards it. “Wait—like. Think of it like a flower for a goddess—who’s the pretty one everyone argued over to the point that Troy got burned down? You’re like her.”

“Considering that specific myth you’ve chosen, if I answer that question I’ll probably get into an awful lot of trouble,” she says amusedly, and the flowers in front of them do nothing to obscure the brightness of her grin.

Aoi, strangely, finds she already has an answer, an undebatable, sure and certain answer. What makes it even more bemusing is that her answer is not one of the three that the Pars—Paris? Yeah. It’s not one of the three that the Paris guy had to deliberate over in the judgement that led to such an incriminating tragedy for the Greeks and Trojans both.

(Later, she’ll forget about this odd, instinctive thought. There’s not much to say about it other than the fact that she never knew these things—or, well—she does not, but somehow she _does_.)

“I remember some part of it, like I’m no mythology nerd, but I do have the basics down.” She shakes her head and giggles, lightly jiggling the bucket of lilacs in her hand. “Tragic, sure. But for us, at least, there’s these cuties instead of, like, a golden apple and a ruined city.”

“You’re aware.” The woman says mildly. “And the name you were looking for is Helen, by the way.”

“Oh, okay _Helen_ ,” she winks, and doesn’t know why she says the next set of words as she does. “You can have these for free, it’s on me.”

“I’m still paying you,” the stranger still says flatly and despite all that. Aoi thinks she understands—because it’s almost as though she _has_ to. Not because it was how things worked, obviously that was one factor, but it was as though there are steps that she must follow, lest she upset and tip the very balance of the universe.

It’s dramatic, truly, and not much of a reasonable thought; she’d laugh at herself if—when their hands brush as Aoi passes over her purchase—she didn’t hear the entire world sigh in relief.

Aoi attempts at a smile. “If that’s how you want it to be.”

“It’s how it should.” She only says, then starts reaching for something—presumably a wallet—inside her coat.

“You never waste any time, do you?” Aoi scrunches up her nose, and then laughs. “Okay, okay. You can pay, I may not own the shop but I sure as hell work here.”

“There’s no point in wasting time.” The woman says quietly, tone and words light, but only in the same sort of way (practiced, rehearsed lines). “It comes and goes. There’s never enough of it to go around.”

“That sounds like a line for someone over a thousand years old,” Aoi laughs, and there’s something clenching inside of her and _oh wait—_ it’s her heart. She’s supposed to be giving change—but all she can think about at the moment is the first time she’ll hold this woman’s hand and she doesn’t even know her name.

(Maybe there isn’t. Enough of time, that is. She thinks so too, and that makes her want to do something about this moment, while the opportunity is still there.)

“Or, I may not be wasting time, but I’m late to a meeting at four.” The woman smiles, gently takes the change from Aoi’s hands and slowly turns away, sounding genuinely regretful, but brightens a bit when she sees Aoi still looking at her. “Even if there is a valid reason for me to stick around here.”

Aoi smiles too, nods, takes a step back into the shop’s storehouse, twisting away with the motion, and nods to herself again, before she realizes what she’s missing.

“Wait! Hold on I need—” She didn’t mean to say the last one as she did, and it comes out sounding a little more than _just_ desperate, more than she would have liked. But then, the woman turns back towards her quickly enough for one or two petals to fall off from one of the lilacs in the bouquet, and Aoi can’t even find it in herself to be upset at the display. Maybe pretending isn’t really a thing either of them have any time with. “I need—I don’t—I don’t know your name.”

“Kyoko Kirigiri.” Strangely, it’s not the name she expects to hear, but like a puzzle piece, it still falls into place, easily enough. (Kyoko, she repeats in her head and hesitates at the weight of it, like it’s something important she can’t quite place in her memory.)

“Hina—Aoi Asahina and uh—yeah.” (Somehow, in Kyoko’s presence, her name doesn’t perfectly fit either. And there’s that feeling again, like she’s forgetting something big.) “Um, hi.”

Kyoko stares at her for a moment, struck silent. Aoi shifts awkwardly on her feet, feeling her face warm up a bit.

“…hi,” Kyoko finally says back with a subdued smile. Aoi catches one last flash of it before Kyoko turns away again. “I’ll be going—maybe I’ll catch you sooner or later, Asahina.”

Aoi giggles, her grin almost splitting her cheeks in half. “You definitely will!” She calls as Kyoko opens the door. “You’re in my neck of the woods now! Got that?”

“Noted.” Kyoko’s laugh, muted, still carries, like Aoi was willing the breeze to bring the sound to her somehow. Lavender strands curl in the wind as she walks off. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Afterwards, she smells of oak (of salt and rosewood and the blood in her mouth, of silver and ash, of something underground, of trees before spring comes), as though it’s coming from her pores and not the flowers in her room. The scent persists through showers and runs and nights out and all the scents that come with living in a flat occupied by three. It lasts for days (eternities) and spans beyond time, too; she finds it hidden away in memories that shouldn’t be there, flashes of a dream that couldn’t possibly exist.

(She’s five when her family takes her and Yuta to the local museum, she’s fourteen on a field trip to an archaeology exhibit, she’s nineteen and exploring a cave while on a hike with friends, she’s twenty-three and passing by a classroom of an afternoon Helenic history seminar. And it’s there—she swears it’s always there—just out of her reach: the field over, the crest of the hill, deeper into the cave and past the stalagmites, a voice calling from the earth that she searches across her old campus for twenty minutes before walking home.

She’s not twenty-five—she’s ageless—and she doesn’t recognize herself, but it’s there, too.)

The scent of narcissus and amber lingers along her skin and Aoi doesn’t mind.

Kyoko’s face flashes through her mind every other step.

* * *

_She gives Hades flowers on the first day of spring._

_They meet in a clearing. On the second that marks the beginning of the vernal equinox, under the clear skies of the first few hours of daybreak._

_Kore sees her watching from behind the treeline, but even from a distance, she knows; it’s obvious in the way the ground retreats into itself when the woman trudges past: stalks leaning away, flowers curling in, grass turning into a darker shade of green. The world is in bloom and it dies at the hands of the one other creature that walks its face._

_Hesitation is not a trait often associated and attributed with the gods, more so those of Olympus, but the Venerable One feels it now, desiring to continue this celebration that the very Earth wishes to partake in, but unwilling in stopping the woman all the same. The sun feels too warm for her liking. She can’t look away, can’t stop doing so, for fear of ruining the majesty that came with her arrival._

_Today, Hades steps out into the light._

_Kore wills vines to wrap around her as soon as she does—nothing threatening or restrictive, but rather comforting and welcoming—a soft touch to greet Hades in time with her smile. She laughs a bit, and she is not surprised at Hades’ intrusion, nor displeased. Hades looks at her, really looks at her, waiting for a trick or a trap. Kore only gestures her on, makes white flowers spout around her feet._

_“Wealthy One, Receiver of Guests. You rarely walk to the surface, let alone here.” She teases, a tone different from what she usually wears. There’s a certain color on Hades’ cheeks some might not recognize for her to have. Kore thinks idly, how even Hades herself would not likely recognize it either. “What has brought you here, King of The Underworld?”_

_Hades is not honest. It is a trait her position does not permit._

_However, distantly, Kore thinks that today, it will be not so._

_“I find that sometimes, I grow tired of being around things that aren’t alive.”_

_And she’s correct in that observation._

_She grins. “I can help you with that. If you will let me, of course.”_

_The earth below them shifts, reshapes, and one of the flowers at Hades’ feet lifts, stem lengthening towards Kore to digits past the unnatural, until it’s brushing between her fingers, depositing itself in her hand, releasing itself from its roots when she lifts it to her nose, breathes in deep and finally places it gently over Hades’ unexpecting palm._

_“Death awaits those who live here when I return to the world below,” she says softly, staring at the flower with sorrow and regret. Kore’s heart bleeds._

_“But not this.”_

_Hades eyes her cautiously, waiting. Kore only laughs; nothing changes in front of them, nothing shifts or moves: the sun still shines brightly down, the breeze sweeps through the trees, the fields extends on in front of them, the meadow still thrives. Hades, finally, raises an eyebrow._

_“I have seen all of this. What do you wish for me to look at?”_

_Kore motions for her to look around, and she does. Behind Hades are outlines of her footprints, but they’re surrounded by a spring of bouquets, flowers sprouting up and growing around every place she’d stepped. The furthest back, a footprint next to the first pine of the treeline, boasts a single, beautiful forget-me-not, its stem twisting and arching towards the sunlight. Hades stares, perplexed and transfixed, her reaction exactly what Kore had been aiming for._

_“Oh.” Hades breathes out quietly, voice falling apart in her throat, gazing at the petals of a wisteria unfurling._

_Kore smiles. “Not this.”_

_She stares into the goddess’ eyes and Hades seems to believe her words, impossible may they seem to her._

_“My name is Kore.” She says cheerfully, and Hades gawks at her briefly._

_“Your name does not suit you.”_

_“And it does not, but it is still my name regardless.” She laughs, amused, and glances at the flower in Hades’ hand—Hades looks at it as if she was expecting dirt to bubble beneath her palm, for the color to disappear, for the corruption to start seeping into the plant, but nothing of the sort happens; the lilac is still pristine, untouched—and Kore giggles. “At least, you know where to find me when you desire to feel something that is alive.”_

_She does not expect Hades to answer as quickly as she does._

_“And what if I want to feel like this always?”_

_Kore laughs, and the entire field glows. Hades stands still, spellbound, and looks right at home._

_“Then come always, Hades. Always.”_

* * *

Sakura and Hiro wait for her at the end of a trail when she gets off at five, a path which pours out into a park; they’re standing next to a lamppost, talking animatedly about something when they see her approach. The city raises up behind them, the billboards, the large flat screens, the business of main street, the shops and bars and stores and restaurants. It’s a bustling world, and this park is a nice place if you were looking for something quaint. The kind where everyone would remember you if you came by for more than a day, where not everybody knows everybody but knows enough. Hiro wraps her in a hug, and there’s an attempt to push him away but she accepts it anyway, then she’s handed a soda. She takes it appreciatively, thanking them with a laugh; she hadn’t realized how badly she needed the drink, or actually, anything sweet would do.

Sakura smiles at her too, then shows her a picture of a small dog on her phone. “And what do you think of her?” She asks as soon as they begin to walk around.

“Oh my god—she’s cute,” she coos. “You _have_ to adopt that one.”

“I’m thinking of it,” Sakura agrees seriously with a nod. “I went to the shelter today, she liked me a lot. There was one point where the vets had to get her off of me because I think she didn’t want me to leave.”

“You said that for about almost every dog that you tried to adopt! Let’s face it. Anyone would like Sakura as long as they had pairs of working eyes.” Hiro adds. Aoi laughs, standing on the tips of her toes to bump his shoulder.

“You were the opposite when I first introduced you to her,” Aoi argues dryly. “You ran away and almost slipped down the hill.”

“The past is past.” Hiro waves her off with a hand, cheeks red.

“Anyway,” Sakura says, turning back to Aoi, “Asahina, how was your shift today? You look happier—than usual.”

“I guess I am?” She affirms with a nervous laugh. “Uh—I don’t know. Everything felt weird? A good kind of weird. I met this girl—”

“You?” Hiro asks, blinking rapidly, faking shock. “You _talked_ to a girl?”

“Ugh, shut up.” She says, and she thinks of telling them the truth but can’t put it in a more eloquent way. “I met this girl and she—I don’t know. It’s… crazy. She was quiet, but still. There’s something weird. It’s like I know her but I don’t know how.”

“Okay so strange, weird and you feel like you know her but you don’t at the same time; all in one package. Spooky.” Hiro muses. “Was she hot?”

“You have _no_ idea.” Aoi sighs without thinking about it, an automatic response. It’s all she’d ever thought about in the last two hours of her shift, the almost unearthliness of Kyoko’s appearance to her, her strange, otherworldly allure, her charm, her attraction. Aoi hadn’t been able to focus on it at the time, hadn’t been able to quantify it, evaluate it, comprehend it, but the distance had given her some semblance of clarity, and, _god_ —“Yeah. She’s so pretty—but like—I don’t know. There’s like, a stop sign in front of me but it’s more of a suggestion than an instruction. Danger, but a good kind?”

Hiro snickers. “Somebody’s got a crush.”

“Do you know where she lives?” Sakura cuts in. “She probably does in this city.”

“Nope,” Aoi says, pointedly ignoring Hiro’s remark. “She just said she’d catch me sooner or later.”

“Spooky _and_ cryptic.” Hiro nods sagely. “A gorgeous woman who will apparently find you when the time is right. Not my type because I’d probably piss myself at the sight of demons in my room, but it can work. I can work with that, but with a dude. Obviously.”

“Most people would piss themselves when they see a demon in their room, but sure.” Aoi rolls her eyes. “Glad to know my day was some learning experience for you.”

“Did she say anything about where she works or where you’ll find her though?” Sakura asks. “Or a number?”

“Nah, I kind of forgot to ask her about that in the moment,” Aoi says aloofly, gazing off at the opposite street corner, waiting for a glint of silver hair in the crowd. “She just went in and out like any other buyer.”

“Damn,” Hiro says. “Maybe you guys are like, soulmates, and she’ll find you again somehow.”

“He started reading one of Fukawa Toko’s newer novels earlier,” Sakura explains. Aoi laughs loudly.

“Honestly?” She starts, smiling to herself, thinking of ashes, and the light of the moon following her like a second shadow, of monkshoods and roses and daffodils blooming beneath someone’s feet. “That sounds silly, but who can say? Really? I don’t know either.”

Sakura smiles, and Hiro only pats her on the back with a laugh.

* * *

(“I met a girl today,” Kyoko reveals, smiling underneath the setting sun shining through the window, ignoring the chatter of the other patrons. She sits over a chair. Makoto glances over at her from other side of the café table, surprised and blinking. “At the flower shop you recommended me. She’s… nice.”

“Wait what—really?” Makoto says excitedly, setting his iced coffee down. “You never talk to me about stuff like this.”

“I don’t know,” Kyoko explains. “We talked about flowers and—I can’t explain it. She’s… beautiful.”

“Oh, I see now,” Makoto says, and shoots her a sly look. “Look at you, finally having a crush after all these years. Go get her.”

“It’s not a crush.”

He snorts. “Yeah, right. It sounds like one to me.”

“I want to die.” Kyoko declares theatrically, burying her face in her hands, Aoi’s smile painting itself across the front of her mind; she thinks idly of herself smelling like flowers of leaves and trees, of a clearing that stretches on and on and on and even beyond the horizon, of haybales and gardens and wheat and dirt from somewhere she can’t quite place, of vines and weeds and the first days of spring. She doesn’t remember using a brand of perfume with this sort of fragrance when she left earlier, but she finds that it’s no bother at all.

She remembers sneakily picking cherries from her neighbour’s garden at ten, she’s sixteen and on a solo trip to the local botanical greenhouses, twenty-one and trying to find a perfume that suits her for her Byzantine history presentation, twenty-four and there’s the whiff of the wind that she chases across the park for a few minutes before giving up. The scent is in memories that have no place, a time even farther from when she was born; and she can’t comprehend why.

Makoto laughs again, and Kyoko is brought back to Earth. “Here we go,” he says with a smile. “Would, like, dying ever solve the problem though?”

She doesn’t know why she says it, but it feels right. “No, no it does not.”)

* * *

There’s no desire for pretenses.

Aoi somehow spots Kyoko in the crowds always, by whatever strange coincidence the fates have decided to give them—and they’ve graduated from strangers to friends who seem like they’ve known each other their entire lives in the span of a week—so when Kyoko calls, Aoi answers on the first ring. March feels like a haze, to the point that Hiro and Sakura would shoot her knowing, funny looks every time her phone came out of her pocket (every time the message is from Kyoko, she gets this stupid smile on her face that she can’t seem to stop doing, and Hiro adores using this against her almost ninety-percent of the time). She doesn’t really care, doesn’t try to hide it. And on the first day Kyoko passes by the street of her shop, when Aoi asks if Kyoko wants to hang out after her shift, Kyoko rattles off several different options without pause.

(“I’ve always been thinking about it for so long, you know?” Aoi says excitedly, not really an admission, not a confession, not when the truth is simply out in the open. “About what we could do together ever since we first met.”

“I’m pretty sure we met just a few weeks ago.” Kyoko adds passively, but Aoi doesn’t care and just laughs.)

Kyoko—without Aoi’s job and the flowers distracting her from looking at her fully—is more beautiful than anything she’s ever seen. It’s more than the sharp cut of her jaw or the lines on her neck or the way her eyes speak more than her mouth does when she smiles; Kyoko is an objectively attractive person and there’s not much serious debate up for it, but it’s more than that. There’s something that drops in her stomach and falls into place at the sight of her, and it’s not flowers or butterflies—but rather, a weight she can’t quite name. And maybe it’s the same way for Kyoko, too. Because the look on her face—when Aoi comes into view, running past the bridge that marks the beginning of the far field—holds more than she can ever fathom.

Life is unpredictable and odd, and the relationships that she’s acquired within it, odder still. She’d met Hiro at a karaoke bar that she’d been dragged to by her college roommate Sayaka and in the span of a few hours, they’d gone through every stage but one of a relationship imaginable: strangers (the awkward ‘sup’ and ‘hellos’), enemies (when she found out he and her had the same favorite pop rock song and everyone else had them fight over who could sing it better, except by the end everyone was begging them to give the microphone to someone else), client/customer (when Sakura told her he did cool fortune-telling in his spare time and she had her palms read at the cost of a few good yen for the fun of it), and finally, best friends (when they decided to merge friend groups by second year and Sakura seemed happy having newer friends and Hiro was, in fact, a cool guy, so why not).

But this—Aoi taking Kyoko’s hand and leading her to a field full of flowers— is a different matter entirely, and that must be apparent to the both of them, because Kyoko hardly looks surprised when Aoi doesn’t step away or let go of her hand, even once they’ve arrived at their destination.

“Why here?” Kyoko asks, tone softer than what her question merits. Her lips curl a bit as she does, and Aoi gets caught on the corners like a clip; she wants to press her fingers against the groove, and then do the same with her mouth.

Aoi pushes the thought away before it spirals, then giggles to herself. “It’s nice here.” She says, unabashed. She loved making and watching things grow, come alive, wherever she went. “And I get to share it with you, too. Is that weird?”

“That’s—” As Kyoko rummages her brain for the word, her gaze does something peculiar as it traces the contours and planes of Aoi’s face. It’s a kind of searching, and Aoi gets the impression that Kyoko doesn’t find the exact answer she’s looking for; she herself comes up similarly short, though she wouldn’t be able to properly answer, or define even the question, if asked. “—not weird? It’s very you. It’s sincere, and… endearing?” Kyoko blinks slowly and shakes her head; neither seem to sound quite right. “I can’t find the word for what it is, but the world would love to have more of that.”

Kyoko appears to think that the honesty doesn’t sound as sweet coming from her lips, but Aoi doesn’t mind. She chooses to laugh, and then smiles afterwards, wider this time, and she hears the plants around them pulse with a soft sigh, a tangible exhale of air and oxygen.

(And when she walks along the meadows, running her fingers softly over the leaves and petals and stems, as she speaks each of their names with a quiet sort of homage, worship and reverence, Aoi doesn’t notice the vegetation leaning into her touch.

The image would be less bizarre and more amusing when coupled with Kyoko’s thoughts at the moment: that she wants to do much of the same.)

Aoi can wait.

(She did, once.)

* * *

_It is not known for gods to scurry, but Kore has never bothered to fit with what mortals enjoy attributing her as such._

_She is restless, and she is scared._

_Hades has not returned in a time—Kore thinks idly how her first reaction should be offense, though there is not much to argue in the face of a god like Hades—and she understands why so._

_The Underworld is a place she’s heard many tales about (Dionysus, who she had asked once or twice and his wordless reply spoke more than any other answer, and a few human children, who told her folktales waxing poetic of Hades and her supposed sins), and the conclusion she’s drawn is that The Underworld, she thinks, is a place where life simply cannot be (but she would argue, her creations would be more than useful and would make nice, welcoming additions somewhere if Hades permits); nonetheless, Hades had mentioned once, in one gathering at the behest of Zeus, how she’s never taken offense. The land of the dead is cold and dark and dreary and even the gods fear the black, icy waters that flow throughout, avoid the location and its god and all that she represents. Kore had been the first to move towards the ruler of the dead with purpose, to step close enough to touch._

_In the end, Kore sees where Hades’ silence comes from. Reluctance lies in the face of the unknown._

_Instead, she lets the world bloom, and she waits._

_She waits until, one day, she feels the weight of a stare boring holes from behind her, nothing like those of curious mortals, but one intent enough to raise the hairs at the back of her neck. She turns, finds cold and shrewd blue eyes, and feels only amusement and dread when the connection holds, when the distance between them lessens. Athena is not much of a kind-hearted fellow—even if he is supposedly all-knowing—that Kore will only bother conversing with him when there are no options to choose from, especially if the chatter from the other gods wasn’t as baseless._

_“What has brought you here, God of Council?” Kore asks, her voice soft, the lilt at the end of her words question more than she does aloud._

_“You should be aware that many reasons bring me everywhere, however I am here for only one.” He says snappily. “You are an acquaintance of Hermes, yes? When he passes you next dawn, please do remind him the message I have told him in discretion with regards to Hades. I will not forgive him so if he does not deliver it to her properly.”_

_“You find a way to do what you desire, always.” Kore drawls, unkindly. “I will remember, but Hermes is not one for you to always slander this way.”_

_“I know you will remember.” Athena smirks, pale blonde hair billowing in the gentle, cold breeze she has set for today. “And I know, also, but if he keeps acting far from what his title suggests and more of a bumbling, human buffoon, then I will keep doing so.”_

_Kore rolls her eyes, but smiles when stricken by a thought. “Why do you not just go to Hades herself? I believe it is not below you to personally tell her how much you want the soul of your special mortal to be well taken care of.”_

_Athena stops, narrows his eyes, one eyebrow raising by the slightest digit at her boldness, the tone, the tease, like others don’t often talk to him that way. Kore snorts, the image of Athena being brought down a few pegs become more and more attractive by the second._

_“You say that as if you have not disobeyed the suggestion of turning away from fraternization.”_

_This too, is a joke, and Kore doesn’t notice the effect her laugh has on her surroundings, doesn’t notice the sudden brightness and blushing of the meadows, doesn’t notice Athena slightly wince at the destructiveness of the motion. “That does not narrow things down for me. There are many tales that tell me of ‘fraternizing’, many assigned to me by mortals with a lot of effort, spare time and perhaps, imagination.”_

_“But there is only truly one.” Athena glances at her knowingly, and Kore finds that she does not like the look. “To answer your question, I have actually gone to Hades some time ago to retrieve something,” Athena pauses, smirks, as if to frustrate her. “She may not say so herself, but I do think she will come here.”_

_To you, he does not say._

_Just then, Kore feels right on the verge of something, from his words alone._

_“I can wait,” she whispers. “I would like to make_ her _feel alive.”_

_"Oh," Athena rolls his eyes. "I just know you will."_

* * *

She doesn’t last long.

Even so, how could she?

Not a week later, Aoi’s invited dinner at a friend of Kyoko’s. She’s not seen her place, or either of her two friends, but she’s heard plenty.

(“Odd,” Kyoko had said, much in the same way she always does, quietly, and with a contemplative curve to her lips. “Byakuya is normally a lot more particular about who comes to his flat.”)

And what she’s heard has Aoi choosing her attire carefully; she’s dressed up, kind of a toss-up between casual and formal—enough for whatever this Byakuya guy’s standards are, and enough that she doesn’t look so out of place. She tops it all off with a nice necklace Sakura had given her last year—also the watch that Yuta gave to her on the same day—that she places just so as she dresses, making sure everything lays just right, adjusting herself in front of the mirror enough times that Sayaka, who stomps into her room with a loud groan, finally drags her out of their apartment.

It’s a level of preparation she’d never admit to, or do so frequently, but is glad for; Kyoko meets her outside her building—in attire that _should_ be considered formal, but on Kyoko it’s literally anything else—and stares at Aoi so shamelessly that it makes _Aoi_ blush. (Or maybe it’s the form fitting dress shirt—high school Aoi called people who dressed like that stuck-up and maybe way too uptight, and that, she now thinks, sounded childish. Because on Kyoko, it just looks like it was designed with her in mind—or maybe she was just really, really affected by the smile that bloomed on her face as soon as Aoi stepped outside.)

She’s glad for it again when they make it to the designated place—an apartment near her old campus, in one of the nicest complexes in the area, Kyoko’s somewhere in here too so, excuse her for a bit but, _whoa_ —and the person in question greets her at the door with a piercing blue stare and a once over that’s so clinical, it nearly makes her shiver.

“Asahina,” the man says, in a way that sounds like it’s a substitute for something else. “Charmed. I am Byakuya.” He pauses. “Togami.”

_Togami._ Huh, Kyoko’s friends were intimidating as hell. Hopefully the Makoto guy would be much, much better.

Byakuya is _tall_ , even comparing to what she’s seen in old business magazines and more so with the heeled shoes that likely cost more than her share of the rent for five months, and more put together than Aoi would have thought possible for a twenty-five year old (considering her and her circle of friends, he’s possibly the most put together she’s actually ever seen, but she won’t tell anyone that). His posture is without fault, the lift of his chin plainly regal, and the set of his mouth stern. Had Aoi been back in the shop with the habit of assigning people flower meanings (which, admittedly, she always did when she was bored) she would have given Byakuya the chrysanthemum, a flower she feels reluctant to give to someone as sharp-tongued and somewhat infuriating as him, but one that genuinely spoke to the strange tint to his eyes, not necessarily in color, but character: clever and shrewd.

“Uh, nice to meet you too?” Aoi says, because it is, oddly enough—despite the peculiar and knowing intensity in his cold gaze—somehow nice to meet Byakuya. Perhaps it’s the connection to Kyoko, or perhaps it’s something else, but when Byakuya finally smiles (not a smirk, she corrects), just the teeny-tiniest bit then, there’s an ease in the handshake he offers that speaks to a kind of held respect and companionship that Aoi doesn’t understand how she’s already earned.

“We will talk more later.” There’s no doubt or question in his words, and it seems to suggest that resistance was futile at best, and most of it only reference to an eventuality. “But for now, I need to go back to the kitchen. That’s the whole point of this gathering, despite Kyoko not participating in any of it.”

“You keep treating this like a networking event,” Kyoko says dryly. “Maybe view it like an actual dinner and not a trustfund runt’s gluttonfest. Relax.”

Byakuya seems to consider this statement seriously, and it’d be funny if it weren’t deeply sad at second glance.

“My family disowned me once,” Byakuya finally comes up with, like he’s talking about a joke no one else was in on, and Aoi stares.

“Yes, they did.” Kyoko rolls her eyes, but there’s no heat to it. “Though that’s not something to say to new people.”

With a delicate adjustment to his glasses, Byakuya smirks and waves off the complaint, like it’s one he’s heard before. “It’s merely an introduction, and a clarification of how I heavily dislike those brainwashing and grooming lowlifes.”

“Oh look at you,” Kyoko shakes her head, disbelief and delight merging into a particular sort of amusement. “Rebelling against your upbringing. The first of your kind and taking back your name.”

“Don’t refer to me like I’m some kind of other breed. Anyways, Makoto is in the kitchen and—”

Kyoko nods with a wry smile. “—warn him that you do not go touch anything in the kitchen lest we want the fire department here again.”

“You know full well I can cook now.” There’s no hesitation in the grating, cutting reply, or in the (embarrassed?) scoff he lets out. “You will never let that one go, won’t you?”

“I will.” Kyoko places a hand on Byakuya’s arm with all the gravitas of a knight kneeling before the throne of their king. The solemn mood lasts for an entire, extended second. Until, of course, Kyoko herself shatters it. “But now when it’s still fresh, I won’t. Having no instinct around even frying things especially when it’s you stumbling around _is_ funny.”

Byakuya huffs, but not for the reason Aoi expects. “I know. At least there’s you and Makoto now.” His stare moves between the two women in front of him, and he surprisingly smiles (or, well, it’s an _attempt_ , and looks near to a grimace more than a smile but Aoi can tell he’s trying). “I really am… glad you made it, Kyoko. With your—hm, friend. Go get something; your favorite appetizers are just ready on the table.”

“What? How would you know—” Aoi starts, but Byakuya’s stare— _knowing_ —cuts her off, and Aoi changes course. “Uh, right. Thanks. Cool. It’s cool.”

“Good,” he returns smoothly, already turning away to go to the kitchen (though somehow, Aoi still feels the heaviness of the gaze, lingering, like something she’s felt before).

“Byakuya knows things.” Kyoko says vaguely, guiding her to the living room with a careful but firm hand on the small of her back. “In the sense of being born to a high-end family and having a privileged childhood with access to an amazing but unfair amount of information. There’s another unexplainable thing, but it’s best not to think about it too much. Because I don’t. Otherwise you might begin to consider the idea how he’s probably tapped on the phone lines through the Togami family contacts.”

Aoi holds back a laugh, feeling her lips quirk. “Did you think he actually—”

“I did. During my official first case as PI a few years ago, but I hashed that angle out completely after an hour. Makoto and I considered it too—second year college.” Kyoko puts her hands away and on her chin to think, but her left hand finds Aoi’s back once more, quickly after. “He wasn’t as nice, and much more of an actual classist prick. No one liked him. I provoked him a bit and he got—well, pissed, as it is. Makoto insisted I use VPNs in case he decided to blackmail me until then.”

“You—” Aoi laughs softly, mostly to herself, but Kyoko does a little smile too, like context doesn’t matter as long as it makes Aoi happy. “You—how did you three even end up like _this?_ How did he end up like _that?_ ”

“Long story,” she says shortly, sitting down on the couch. Aoi follows. “Born from a high end family. Raised like an asshole, and that went on until college. Then he had a reality check over the years and kind of gravitated towards Makoto and I. He had a full, honest interview with a famous newspaper after he decided to get disowned, I think. An article of that’s probably around here somewhere.”

“Wow.”

“Wow indeed,” Kyoko chuckles, and Aoi’s lips twitch in amusement, holding back her giggling. “There was a lot of work done for him to be where he is now, but recognizing the gravity of your slights and apologizing, trying to become a better person from it is preferable than not changing, no?”

“Yeah.” Aoi nods vigorously, then pauses. “I would’ve definitely given him a few punches in the face if I met him in college, though.”

“Oh don’t worry,” Kyoko drawls. “Makoto did. _He_ was the reality check. Now couple that with the idea that those two are dating.”

“They… are.” Aoi says, tone painfully neutral, given away only by another lip twitch.

“Very much.” Kyoko adds for her, because she was probably unable to help herself either.

“Right.” Aoi says again, and Kyoko nods. She does as well, for fear that anything else—such as looking at Kyoko’s straight-laced face—might send her into hysterics. “They’re dating.”

“Four years.” Kyoko deadpans.

“Oh my _god_.” She says simply, loud and obnoxious enough that she hears Byakuya’s scathing jeer from the kitchen, followed by an unfamiliar sunny laugh that she infers was probably from ‘Makoto’.

“She’s not lying,” the laugh from earlier joins in, Makoto, she connects, and they shake hands (oddly, she feels like she’s done this once, too) before he also sinks somewhere on the couch, a meaningful distance between him and them both. “I don’t know what the heck happened—but it _did_. Oh and Byakuya went out to buy ice, he’ll be back in a bit.”

“You kept gushing to me how you’re sure he was your soulmate or something for three days in a row.” Kyoko says coolly, her arm drapes around Aoi’s waist lightly—like an instinct of sorts, like she didn’t know it was there but her body thought otherwise—and that doesn’t stop the exhilaration from sinking in. Or the pride. Or the possession. Aoi was an easily excitable person, but these were not things she often sees in herself. They’re not things she particularly enjoys seeing in herself. But she still scoots a bit closer to Kyoko on the seat anyway. 

Kyoko doesn’t seem to mind; the way she wraps her arm around Aoi fully is instinct too, but one she’s clearly comfortable with, fingers drumming against the curve of her waist, almost (but not quite) touching and holding it fully.

“Huh? I don’t remember that happening.”

“It was four in the morning and you haven’t slept in sixteen hours.” Her drawl is low and amused and also strangely parching. Aoi momentarily forgets about any previous nervousness, instead sinking into the new sensation of Kyoko’s voice reverberating throughout her frame.

“Oh.” Makoto blinks, then laughs, going up and standing somewhere near the entrance door. “Well, that explains that? I guess.”

“Mhm.” Kyoko only says, preoccupied.

Makoto stares at them a bit, then shoots a devious glance. “Looking way _too_ comfortable there.”

“Yeah,” Aoi laughs nervously, suddenly very aware of the hand on her waist.

“Hm.” It’s the first time Kyoko sounds more sharp than amused—a bit heated, even—and Makoto realizes pretty quickly that he’s pressed a button that Aoi has to imagine is typically hard to find (feels a firm tug in her chest at the realization that Kyoko’s exposed it because of _her_ ).

“My bad, I’ll just get back to cooking. I think I need to start preparing the shrimp anyway.” Makoto laughs apologetically, hands up, palms out. “Guess that’s touchy. Don’t worry, unlike Byakuya I _can_ take a hint.”

“Both of you would be a disaster otherwise,” Kyoko chuckles before he leaves. She’s close enough now—arm still around Aoi’s waist—that the warm air flits by her ear, causing a shiver that she only barely manages to suppress. “Do you feel uncomfortable? You can go out, if you like. Or there’s the bathroom, just down the hall over there.”

Aoi raises a brow in question, “Huh? No, I’m not. What made you think that?”

“You seemed nervous.”

“Um,” well then. “Uh, that was another thing. Don’t worry about it, it’s nothing now. Maybe I’m just curious about the appetizer thing.”

“Oh?” Kyoko asks, her posture loosening. “He was referring to garlic breadsticks. He said he had a feeling. Speaking of, _please_ tell me he’s wrong; Makoto and I have been waiting for him to be wrong for _years_.”

“Ah, that sucks.” Aoi giggles. “Because he’s right. I love breadsticks!”

“I see.” Kyoko smiles, appearing to not care about whatever her deal with Byakuya was anymore because Aoi’s in good spirits. “Did you know he guessed my favorite drink just by looking at me once? I wasn’t a frequenter of bars and such, so I didn’t have the slightest clue what a Blue Blazer was. But here I am.”

“The image of him going to bars is… uh.”

“Not Byakuya?”

“At all. He looks like he’d rather be caught dead than go to one publicly.”

“Indeed. But he’s a rebel now, he can live for a bit.” Kyoko laughs though, like it was an endearing feature of his, one hand tapping on her pants. “Do you want to go see my place while we wait? It’s just a floor up.” A rhetorical question, because Kyoko was already helping her up from her seat. “It can get a bit stuffy here.”

Aoi doesn’t see why they should leave, or the reason for the thinly-veiled excuse—until she sees the slight flush to Kyoko’s face—and it’s a pleasant surprise. She notices only because Kyoko calls attention to it. And once she sees it—the rosy glow across her cheeks—it occurs to Aoi that maybe she isn’t the only one so affected by everything happening between them. It makes the matter a little easier, and Aoi shifts, taking her hand as they open the door out, Kyoko raises her voice a bit to inform her busy friend. She sees Kyoko’s blush deepen, but only in pleasure, and Aoi is left without any doubt.

* * *

Surprisingly, it’s easy to get a feel of Kyoko’s apartment even if this was her first time being here—something about her knowing this place despite not at the same time or _whatever_ —Aoi catches captivating snapshots: a framed photo of Kyoko with two people over her shoulder (one with Makoto and his arms outstretched in a frozen peace sign, the other a very put-out Byakuya who was in the middle of rolling his eyes); the statue of a serpent, carved bronze painted a gleaming silver with eyes that seem to follow Aoi throughout the room; a fully-stocked bookshelf (she recognizes a few names: Edgar Allan Poe, Agatha Christie, Natsuo Kirino); a few scattered work documents over a study table; a vase of flowers (the one she’s bought from when they first met); and an Impressionist painting of the ferryman Charon _(salt, blood, rosewood, silver, ash)_ which takes up an entire wall.

It’s hardly enough, but not a permanent problem.

Because instead, Aoi gets a feel for Kyoko. With everyone around her, she’s calm and cold but caring for the ones that matter—as their progress is inevitably halted by various phone calls, idle silences afterwards—there’s the quiet greetings, the conversation, and the added ‘stay safe’ when she says goodbye. And, throughout it, she touches Aoi most of all: her hand in the dip just below her ribs, her fingers threading through the hair framing her face, her chin resting on Aoi’s shoulder. She introduces Aoi to a part of her life with ease, comfort, familiarity, like she’s always been at her side and people had just missed it, somehow, and now she’s just catching them up.

It’s convincing enough; so much that Aoi starts believing it herself.

(Phantoms that could be fantasies or recollections from times past _: ‘It’s always nice to see you here, Kore,’ they say, and laugh because it’s a conversational enough sort of jest when every cup at the banquet table has been refilled a few times over. Flowers uncurl by the pillars as they do. Her body tenses, her skin too warm, but cold fingers ghost along the skin of her wrist and then to her lips, and everything balances out. She laughs, sinking into their arms._ )

Time is a lovely, fickle thing. It’s pleasant, really, but there’s never enough time. _There’s not enough time,_ Aoi remembers suddenly, and finds herself reaching over to desperately clutch at Kyoko’s hand and pulls her outside as soon as they’re close to a sliding glass door that leads to the balcony, one that—it’s clear to see even from inside—has been completely designed by strange knickknacks that Kyoko probably loved collecting, which is of course. Of course. But it is overtaken by greenery (that Aoi, somehow, finds to be a familiar influence, even if she’s pretty sure she doesn’t have magical powers).

Vines and flowers curl up the sides of the lavish complex building’s brick and arch around the top, a curling canopy that’s so ingeniously done and thought of, Aoi barely notices the bent espaliers. Among the greens are crocus, lavenders, anemones; some that shouldn’t be there but are there anyway, filling the air with its glace, honeyed nectar—the smell sticks to every surface. And when Kyoko finally closes the door behind them, the simulacrum is complete; they are alone, they are transported, they are in a faraway field in a faraway land with only the skies bearing witness to this moment in time, thoughtfully carved out and named into their own.

“How did you know?” Kyoko asks quietly, needing only to take two steps until her one hand lands on Aoi’s cheek, until her breath is warm on Aoi’s face. “How did you know I wanted to take you here?”

Aoi doesn’t have an answer. She only knows that it’s the only place they could possibly be—tucked somewhere distant with the night sky overhead.

“I don’t know,” she whispers. “I just do.”

She thinks of hot autumn days and wet grass under her feet, of the scent of honeysuckle in the air and flower petals brushing against her cheek, of tartness on the roof of her mouth and sweetness on the tip of tongue. And of coldness. Of ash. Wine-darkness of black, moonless seas. Her mouth tastes like blood and copper and dusts of old age, the remains of a time no one else was alive for sit just at the edge, at the back of her teeth, in the pulse inside her mouth, and neither of them have any corners the other can’t see into. Kyoko’s breaths are hot against her own, and she is turning into something new.

(It begins in a field, and the vision of a hand that isn’t her own. Or it is. There’s something different about the way she moves, and the earth splits its roofs apart, vines grow in places where they aren’t permitted, and how this place she harbors in feels more like a home than any place she’s ever been in. She thinks, most of all, of Kyoko’s hands on all of them and on her as well, a different sort of mystery that Kyoko never took as such.)

Kyoko’s phone rings, Aoi sees Makoto’s name flash across the screen with a message for a few seconds, but Kyoko closes it, and they stare skyward, shoulders bumping. (Later—that night and in the upcoming weeks and months and years—she’ll find herself staring at other places: someone, someone, someone. Someone that, for now, she can’t name. Yet.)

This is not death. It is. But not the one she knows. There is none of that here, (oh, but there is), this one is—

—a death that’s much safer.

* * *

_Hades surfaces, finds her in the same place where she’d seen Kore last._

_“Giver of Good Counsel.” She greets, as soon as Hades steps into the field of impossible colors. “I always thought your visit would come sooner.”_

_The question is not posed unkindly (Hades, she knows, will never take anything she says unkindly), and its directness seems to put Hades off-balance. “I find myself struggling—“ she pauses, then stares at Kore. Thinking._

_(She could continue, say “—on days like today the skies are reflections of the vernal seas” and Kore would understand, the way she always understood Hades. Hades, with her nothingness, black seas and the grief and the poetry and there will be nothing to say to it, because Hades marks stories over before they begin. And she can do nothing but do so. Meaning is what happens after fact. So she’d say “I find myself struggling with what it means to feel alive,” and leave, downwards, downwards and under the dirt.)_

_“I find myself struggling between recklessness and indecision.”_

_(Hades marks stories over before they begin, but this one, she lets it be.)_

_This sincerity is not without cost—Hades must seem to push past a fair, fair amount of discomfort—but the result, Kore finds, is as intended; she casts sunlight over the field in a new way, the grasses twist and sway, and she feels herself smile, then beckons Hades closer with hyacinths and cornflowers at her feet._

_“That is indeed, a problem. But not so much, as compared to so many of our fellows that seem to lack that struggle entirely.” Her smile grows, her blue eyes crinkling. “Myself included, Hades.”_

_The wildflowers greet Hades as she walks past them, each, Kore makes sure, a soft and gentle caress against her bare ankles._

_“There is balance,” Hades says, and she may not know it, but her irises are brighter than they’ve ever been, the lilac coming to match her surroundings. Kore stares, the world suddenly seeming strangely off-balance, the sky isn’t where she left it. “And decisiveness to be found. Between desire and action.”_

_As a contrast to her, Hades wears a healthy amount of robes. A barrier, a wall, a defense—a defense that crumbles when her hand meets the skin of Hades’ shoulder when she finishes crossing the field._

_“King of the Underworld,” Kore starts, breathless. “What is it like to be untouchable?”_

_Hades looks at her._

_“I never was.”_

* * *

She feels strangely agitated the week after.

“Tada!” Hiro exclaims, pushing open the first door situated in the hallway. He keeps shifting in place, as though he would tire if he stayed still for too long. Aoi imagines him wearing twitching winged sandals, and giggles at the idea in her head. “I got super bored yesterday because I got off work early and decided to clean everyone’s rooms and uh—I didn’t touch the closets and cabinets though. That’s like, nope. Off-limits. ”

Aoi blinks, somewhat surprised at the concept of it, cleaning literally _everything_ out of boredom, and also at the charming way some parts of her room seem almost suited to her tastes; the bedspread is littered with red designs which tell her this was something Hiro was supposed to give last Christmas, the furniture’s arranged slightly ways off from where it was originally—but she doesn’t have enough heart to move them back after seeing how clean her room looks. He continues, “Also I think we got some leftovers from last night, but I think we got to ask Sayaka if she still wants any because she called dibs,” –he points to the fridge— “And you’re up for groceries tonight, it’s on the sched.”

Aoi groans, sinks into the cushion of her bed, drops her bag near the foot of it; she turns back to him languidly. “Me? Man, I’m beat. So much customers—and the college kids at volleyball decided it was a good idea to hit my head with the ball when I was _clearly_ busy.”

“What, did Kyoko shoot you a text and you spaced out in the middle of teaching a lesson so much that even the students had to do that?” Hiro says humorously, shooting her funny look. “And shopping’s not that bad. Spring’s the best season dude, got to relish it before the sun decides it’s high time to make fun of my stamina.”

“Shut up. My suffering has nothing to do with your stamina,” she says shortly, then turns her face back to the bed and groans tiredly into the sheets. “And you’re wrong. Summer’s the best time of the year.” Or maybe spring, both seem cool.

Hiro laughs, shifting his glasses a bit. “I don’t think I can even argue with that.”

“Yeah, but there’s still no way I’m doing groceries,” Aoi says pointedly, her voice coming out as muffled grumbles.

“It sure as hell won’t be me then.” She can practically hear Hiro shrugging. “I’m beat too, like, I’m barely even standing right now. And Sayaka’s singing for the night shift at the pub she works at, so she won’t go here ‘til morning.”

“Ugh, fine.”

“Your resistance is a fleeting problem at best,” Hiro declares dramatically, then pauses. “Wait, did I say that right?”

“Yeah, you did.” Aoi teases. Hiro’s attention span had been so vastly different yet so similar to hers that it’s become an inside joke between them; Hiro had the situational awareness—if, he wasn’t involved in it in the first place—of the sharpest tool in the shed, while she, on the other hand, can’t read the room if she wasn’t in on it to save her life. “That one landed. Five points now.

She shifts her head a bit, sees him grinning at her. “Distracting me won’t make me do the groceries,” he says simply.

She sighs heavily, sitting up. “Darn.”

“Oh, Hina,” he says loftily, walking near the bed and patting her head; it’s a gesture he does when he’s messing with her, kind of like an older brother, which is funny, because she already has a younger one. It’s a harmless motion, if it weren’t for the fact that at the moment all it does is remind her of how short she is compared to him (and Byakuya) and she grimaces, standing up. “Always so in your damn head all the time.”

“At least it’s not up in the clouds yet,” Aoi says dryly, calling to him as she leaves. She throws a glance over her shoulder to see him watching her from the hallway and she throws him a wink. The only response she gets is laughter and a much more serious ‘stay safe’.

* * *

She walks aimlessly along the sidewalks, passing by the open stores and the night crowd, and absentmindedly follows the road leading to a tree in the middle of the square she had come to find the years as familiar, or a landmark. Tokyo’s notorious for its busy streets and bustling crowds, but she doesn’t think much of it, doesn’t fear the darkness of the alleys every which way she passes by. Something about it comforts her, the shadows keeping her safe, like a secret hideout everyone else wasn’t in on. She knew how to hold herself in a fight, anyway, so she doesn’t fear any kind of attack, even at night, the idea not even crossing her mind.

She eventually gets all their necessities from a nearby grocery and shoots Hiro a text telling him that’s she going for a walk. There’s the park again, and the trail to it eventually skitters out, empties into a lush clearing that seems to beckon her, emanating something she’s sworn for so long feels familiar, but she can’t say how. She drops the thought, steps forward through the grass, mindful of not crushing the tiny buds of flowers, and exhales, head falling back, hands snapping to her hips, gaze turning skyward.

The stars are more beautiful here, glittering across space like rings, diamonds, loose gemstones scattered somewhere. She finds an empty, distant peace in them, a presence that doesn’t have to tie her to the earth. She unclenches her fists, rotating her shoulders up and back, dropping tension.

The sounds are sweeter, too, saccharine to a degree; the gentle hum of insects, the quiet buzz of the town around her, the wind stroking the leaves, the grass. There’s a breeze, the sound of grass crunching, and she turns her head automatically, only to find—

“Kyoko?” She calls tentatively, heartbeat fluttering.

“Ah,” the woman in question stares at her blankly. “Hello.”

Aoi blinks rapidly, more taken aback by the sight of Kyoko being here of all places than anything else. Kyoko walks away a bit, then kicks her foot lazily, leaning back against a tree trunk. “What are you doing here?”

“Thinking,” Kyoko says. “I could ask you the same thing.”

“Groceries, I guess.” Aoi shrugs.

“Groceries? At this time?” She raises an eyebrow. “No one’s with you?”

“I can kick some mugger’s ass just fine,” Aoi drawls, not unkindly. She understands the concern and she should feel tired from how frequently the question was asked of her, but coming from Kyoko’s mouth she can’t help but preen at the attention.

“…most girls don’t shop alone at night.”

In a move of extreme maturity, she sticks out her tongue. “Well, I’m not most girls.”

“Obviously.”

Aoi laughs, walking towards her. Kyoko’s wearing the coat she’s worn when they first met, but without the scarf this time. The gloves are still there, even when they had dinner, and Aoi throws one brief stare at them curiously before looking up again. Kyoko says, “How are you here when you were going for groceries?”

Aoi surreptitiously glances her up and down, nothing about her says she’s been in a scuffle with some weirdos of some sort; she also looks good, and Aoi can’t help herself from noticing. The only difference is in her eyes: gentler, kinder, familiar. She mirrors honestly, “I’m thinking too.”

“Hm?” Kyoko asks in a sort of way that tells her she doesn’t have to answer, turning her gaze to the patch of sky where Aoi had been staring at previously.

“Just a lot of everything,” Aoi licks her lips. “And stuff,” she pauses, her brain lagging behind her mouth. “How about you?”

Kyoko looks at her for moment, her expression doesn’t give anything away until she says, “You.”

Aoi raises an eyebrow mildly, smiling. “You’re not, like, making fun of me. Are you?”

“I’m not.” She only says, shaking her head delicately and sighing like she’s recognizing she’s revealing something she shouldn’t. “I was thinking about you.”

It’s hard for Aoi to doubt the admission when it’s said so earnestly. “Why?”

“Do I… scare you?” Kyoko asks unexpectedly, and Aoi finally meets her eyes, surprised. There’s a vulnerability in them she hadn’t expected to find, an uncertainty. “Be frank with me.”

Aoi bites the inside of her lip, the answer forcing itself through the cracks of her teeth. Kyoko waits patiently in front of her, silver hair swaying gently in the breeze, lilac of her irises so delicate of a color Aoi gets the feeling they may shatter into another at any given moment. Her mouth rests in a worried, narrow line, though it looks as if she’s trying to hide it, keep her expression neutral and unassuming.

That’s the thing, Aoi thinks; the answer _could_ be yes. Kyoko’s popped into her life without warning, and she can’t leave her alone, can’t even think of entertaining the concept, with an allure Aoi can’t even comprehend, let alone reconcile exists in the first place. The answer should be yes, but it’s not.

“No,” she admits, and Kyoko relaxes visibly, brushing off a weight she’d been apparently mulling over. “You don’t. You really don’t.”

She half-smiles, Aoi stares. “That’s… good to hear.”

“Huh? Why’s that?”

Her smile shifts in a way Aoi can’t put into words, can’t peg down; not threatening, but not nice, either. It’s an eerie kind of knowing, but Aoi gets the idea that Kyoko probably doesn’t know what she’s doing, or what the effect of it really does to anyone (or to her, for that matter). “People always said that’s their impression of me,” she says quietly, “Either mysterious, or unapproachable in that respect. I just—I knew you would say that, but I wanted to make sure.”

Aoi swallows, desperately fighting back against whatever was building up inside her; she digs her nails into her palms, stops herself from the brief, flashing instinct to grab Kyoko and kiss her, push her back against the tree, wrap her hands in her hair. Kyoko blinks, quirks an eyebrow, examining her expression.

“Are you alright?” She asks.

“Yeah,” Aoi manages, realizing she’d been staring, daydreaming. “I’m good.” Her tongue sweeps over her bottom lip. “I think I’m just really beat.”

“It _is_ getting late,” Kyoko says, apparently still a bit concerned. “You’ve been busy.”

“Yeah,” Aoi mumbles awkwardly. “Swim team has a big gig this weekend, the main coach keeps pulling me in along with other swim team alumni to get them into shape.”

“That can get exhausting.” Kyoko reasons. “Let me walk you home.”

She doesn’t decline the offer, but she doesn’t accept it either; Kyoko comes along of her own free will—for her own peace of mind, she only says—and the conversation flows easily as expected between them, both talking openly to the point that she got Kyoko to laugh a few times. Aoi can’t remember giggling _this_ much, it’s kind of getting embarrassing.

Kyoko doesn’t follow her right up to the door, just waits patiently in front of the complex, at the pavement underneath a streetlight, watching her; Aoi looks at her from two floors up, and Kyoko waves in a small, cute sort of way when she sees her step near the railings again.

Aoi can’t help but laugh at it, like she’s in love with Kyoko or something. Even as she puts her hands around her mouth and yells, “You’ll find me again tomorrow, right? No texting and stuff.”

She sees Kyoko smile, puts a hand up and calls back vaguely. “I’m sure I will.”

Aoi laughs, waving, and closes the door. She buries her face in her hands when she does, stomach tying itself into a knot; she remembers the way they seem to cross paths without premeditation, like they’re drawn to the same places at the same times, and she thinks—

Yeah. She’s sure she will.

(Kyoko’s footprints are marked in sidewalks by outlines of small flowers, the same as in the clearing, but natural enough in the landscape that it looks like an accident.

They are gone by morning. Both of them don’t notice.)

* * *

She dreams about Kyoko that night, a dark, murky ocean and the smell of fire over the horizon, and everything fades to darkness; the water recedes, raises high, turns into rain, and Kyoko stands in the middle of the towering cataclysm with a smile and her eyes alight. She walks up to Aoi standing on the shores, and the storm brews behind them, thundering, until it all recedes to _nothing_. Aoi feels like crying, her throat shut tight and choking, her heart ramming itself against her ribcage.

Oh, Kyoko says, and presses her lips to Aoi’s ear. Found you.

She wakes up to the taste of dust, and all she remembers is a sea of black.

* * *

(It’s really a _hunch_ Kyoko has.

Or not. It’s a little—who was she kidding—it’s _a lot_ more than that; a hypothesis, an educated guess, accidentally tested and proven, time for time. A one hundred percent success rate for all trials so far. She walks to the park riverbank, finds a woman lying on her back in the grass, staring up at the sparse clouds crawling lazily by. Kyoko smiles, the tips of her fingers tingle, her bones shivering underneath her skin, her heart impatient and anxious. She closes her eyes, breathes steadily, attempts to quiet her soul. Just give it a minute, she tells herself; give it a minute.

She walks close, and Aoi opens her eyes, staring right back at her from the grass.

“Hi.” Kyoko only says.

“You found me!” She says, blinking up at her and sitting up with a grin.

“I did.” Kyoko confirms, taking a seat next to Aoi on the grass, leaning back on her hands. “Though I’m not sure how.”

“Maybe it’s like, fate—or something.”

“Fate.” Kyoko says ominously, but Aoi doesn’t laugh like it’s a joke; she only smiles, legs stretched out, rubber shoes crossed at the ankles. Kyoko sneakily checks her out, her pulse already a battering river in her veins, and fights to contain a sigh; Aoi’s pretty in a way that it’s almost a form of torture to have her close, especially looking like this—casual, out from a run, out of breath.

God, Kiss me. She wants to say, wants to beg, wants to cry. I don’t know. Please, just kiss me.

The wind picks up the barest amount, the water lapping gently at the riverbank. Aoi says, “So, what were you up to last night?”

“Working.” Kyoko digs the heels of her boots into the grass, her palms on her knees, resting her cheek against the back of her hand. She stares at Aoi, and says, “You’re bad for my focus.”

Aoi blinks. “Huh?”

“I keep getting distracted in places I shouldn’t be distracted in.”

“I—what?” She laughs. “What do you mean?”

“In the middle of work,” Kyoko says. “Had something figured out for this one cold case, but I thought of you and the idea fizzled out and I stayed awake for an hour trying to rack it up again. But then,” she shakes herself off of her tangent, “Like I said, you’re bad for my focus.” She grimaces.

Aoi mimics her position, rests her chin her hand, her smile half-hidden behind her fingers. “And when else?”

“Hm?”

“You said you keep getting distracted,” Aoi points out with a sly grin, “which, like, implies you’ve done it more than once, right?”

“Oh.” Kyoko sort of regrets letting that slip, though it’s too late for excuses. She admits, “Last night,” she pauses. “Maybe the days before that too,” and she can almost see Aoi’s mind doubling into overdrive, trying to process what she’s said.

“So you do that all the time?” Aoi asks candidly, curiously. “Think about me?”

Kyoko raises an eyebrow at the intrigued tone, and hopes Aoi can’t see the debate over whether or not to lie; she knows the question is answered before she even speaks. “Mhm,” she says truthfully. “Ever since I saw you.”

The desire for more is leaping from Aoi’s eyes, Aoi’s mouth, and Kyoko starts to plan. “For real?” She asks.

Kyoko observes her for a moment, doesn’t answer; her lips twist up into a smile a second later, honest. “Yes.”

“Oh, um,” She breathes out, leaning closer. Kyoko almost backs away, being in Aoi’s space is enough for holding breath. “Me too. Me too.”

Kyoko hums, smiling, face relaxing into something softer without realizing it. “That’s nice,” she says, and then pauses, flashing with a spark of a boldness. “Do you think about me all the time too?”

Aoi giggles and raises her thumb to Kyoko’s lips, brushing over them and down to her chin, which she captures between her fingers; Kyoko stops speaking, enthralled at her touch, her heartbeat in her tongue, the entire sun gazing out at her from Aoi’s eyes. She feels dangerously close to blacking out. “Yeah,” Aoi tells her with a shy smile, “I can’t stop thinking about you either.”

“Really?”

“Uh-huh.” Aoi grins, a little dazed. “You know—even if you were a stranger I think I’d want to get to know you. Again.”

The sentence catches Kyoko off-guard. “Why?”

Aoi blinks rapidly, her cheeks going a slight red like she hadn’t processed her own thought and it escaped before she decided whether to share it or not. “I don’t know, actually,” she says, stumbling. Slipping. “I feel like—I feel like I’d know you anywhere.”

It sounds deeper than it should, breathes like a promise rather than an afternoon; your heart, Kyoko wants to say, I can see it, somewhere. She lets the sky lull her into peace, the blue of Aoi’s eyes washing over her in waves, cool earth and flowers below her an embrace instead of a grave.

Your heart is somewhere out there, she wants to say, but somehow she thinks as if she’s already found it.

Yeah. Kyoko feels like she’d know her anywhere, too.)

* * *

_They meet above the ground and Hades is shown the world._

_There are no lies told, and this is no metaphor; Kore shows her the world, one location at a time. She pulls Hades through the earth and the seas and the skies, walks through waters on divides, she shows her, on borrowed burning chariots or winged sandals or horses made of the ocean tides._

_(Hades, it seems, seems dumbfounded by the gravity of her influence. Kore is owed a favor by nearly every god on Mount Olympus, if their predilection for loaning her precious items with several degrees of trust is already any indication; Hades had told her that it’d be unbelievable if anyone hadn’t felt the effect the goddess could have in their near vicinity—this had been mostly a reference in jest to the unflappable and vain Athena, who had given them ‘permission’ to step in the city of his patrons. Kore laughs.)_

_Kore knows Hades has travelled, attending funeral rites when it was required of her, but she knows this is something new for her, something outside of duty or godhood. This is something purely for—well, fun. There could be nothing further from typical for the god of the Underground and the ruler of the dead. It shows now, when Kore stands with Hades at the shores of Pieria, ways and ways away from the town of Dion._

_“What do you wish for people to see you as, Hades? Daunting, for shepherding souls? Or something else entirely?”_

_“Hm.”_

_She is familiar to Hades’ pensiveness now, as sagacity, patience and judiciousness comes from dealing with the inevitable and end of all things. The world above is full of life and Hades is anything but, in this and every other way; for Kore it is no bother, and is in fact exciting. Hades, on the other hand, calls her ‘refreshing’ when speaking aloud and it always makes Kore laugh. (Privately, she might laugh at any of the musings Hades says in the open, only because of how endearing and sweet they are.)_

_“I am what I am,” Hades returns simply, though she betrays herself with the curl at the corner of her lips when Kore steps closer, lets her hands run down Hades’ dour, black robes that so contrast her own. “And you are what you are.”_

_“A goddess.” She says reverently. “We can be anything we wish. But most importantly, we can be ourselves.”_

_The breath Hades lets out carries her amusement, but so does her confusion. “I believe I said that. Did I not?”_

_“That is not what I mean.” Kore steps closer still, and smell of ash and fire fill the air. It’s new to her, Kore only wants to breathe in deep. “You are beyond your role. Beyond what you allow mortals to see when you are up here. Why not walk the Earth in a form that will allow you to witness the world as a spectator rather than the one you believe you are meant to wear?”_

_“There are roles to play.” Hades says quietly, closing her eyes. “Forces that restrict, that bind, that limit.”_

_She presses her fingers with care to Hades’ cheek._

_“And yet, it can be never said so when you are with me.”_

_When Kore looks up and Hades opens her eyes, her dark robe is gone, replaced by a dark purple, silken folds, and a lighter drape. Silver hair falls down her back, undone and unrestrained, and a sea breeze picks up the white strands and throws them across her face, bare of any veil or mask or restraint. Kore is the same. They are lighter without the symbols they have learned to carry at some point before the beginning of time._

_“And here you are,” she whispers. Her fingers graze lightly over Hades’ mouth, dip into the thin indent over her lips. “Found you.”_

_“Hello,” Hades says, but only idly; she seems uncertain of what Kore implies, but not particularly concerned with it when she is so preoccupied._

_“No matter how you choose to act or appear to others,” Kore whispers into her collarbone. “This is how I see you, always.”_

_Hades understands. Agrees, with the way her eyes crinkle at the corners when she looks at Kore._

_This, she all but says, is how I will know you. Anywhere. Everywhere. Always._

_But Kore is the only one._

_As they arrive to the town, skirting around busy mortals rushing through their short lives, they draw stares, but only the sort that desired women find commonplace. There is none of the adoration or veneration, but none of the fear as well, none of the panicked horror. Hades presses to her side as Kore whispers soft greetings for them both, and Hades listens; she feels herself warm, not from the unobstructed rays of the sun overhead, but from the ease with which Hades sticks close to her side, observing._

_The gods typically treated mortals in ways ranging from disinterest to abuse, except for her and few select ones. However, Hades, keeper of their souls and their secrets, had heard every complaint and mournful cry, until the weight of it surpassed that which Atlas labored under, until it buried her Underground, where she did her best to conciliate, as much as the very laws that kept the universe in place around them allowed._

_Maybe, it has never occurred to Hades that the souls of mortals can be touched before leaving their bodies, in the simple way she witnesses now._

_(Hades refuses to find with what makes her unique and Kore believes it is a thing of pure suffering; to see light snuffed out by its own hand._

_Hades does what must be done, brings balance—and in these moments, like all the rest, Kore is deathless and unending and immortal, but she knows that perhaps Hades is enough to reduce her to less than that.)_

_The feeling intoxicates, so much so that she nearly misses the stiffening of Hades’ shoulders. Kore waits, and only begins when Hades fully stops, head tilted, spine straight._

_Hades takes a step forward, pulled by a call Kore knows only Hades can hear and reach through unnatural winds; perhaps a prayer, perhaps a rite, a duty only Hades can accomplish._

_Hades turns her head, looks at her, an apology set on her lips, to which Kore shakes off before it can be released._

_“Go where you are needed. I will follow.”_

_And she does._

* * *

(It’s always colder in Byakuya and Makoto’s apartment, but only because Byakuya had been insistent on installing expensive air conditioning and making sure both he and his partner were comfortable. But it’s ludicrous in a way, because she can feel it even _through_ the door. Kyoko only sighs and rolls her eyes, knocking on the entrance. She’s signalled with the buzz of the door and with it, Makoto’s smiling face as he walks out.

“Oh, hey!” Makoto laughs and gives her a hug. “I’m going to get some spicy chicken wings—he says he’s going to ‘explore’ today, whatever that meant.”

Kyoko raises an eyebrow amusedly. “Explore?”

“You know how he’s never done the sticky fingers thing? The one—the one where you lick the sauce off.” He says, whispering loudly, raising his palms and spreading his fingers. “I managed to convince him to try, so I’m going out to buy for us both because there’s no way he’d want it delivered to his tab or be seen in there.”

Kyoko chuckles. “Of course he won’t. Good luck next time though.”

He smiles, and walks off with a wave. “Yeah, see you.”

She steps inside, takes her shoes off and sets them by the front mat. It’s not as big as one might expect from someone like Byakuya—I’ve come to loathe that fucking estate, Kyoko remembers him saying upon moving out, laughing a bit at how he’s outgrown his shy habit of avoiding swearing to spite some of his family. His and Makoto’s apartment is decorated still, but in a quaint way, tastefully laid out and somehow warm despite her initial connotation. Kyoko shakes her hair out of her coat, checks her phone, types out a quick message to one of her clients as she pads down the hall, one littered with pictures of her and Makoto and Byakuya himself, and even a few of his old siblings before being disowned. He’s more sentimental than he lets on.

“Ah, Kyoko. Good evening.” Byakuya says, when she finds him sitting at the kitchen table preoccupied with his phone, the screen blown up in front of him, half-filled wine glass to his left. He finally glances over, corner of his mouth twitching. Kyoko only greets with a hum and a wave of her hand. “I’ve unfortunately dug my own grave.”

Kyoko only rolls her eyes. “It’s just chicken wings,” she says dryly. “You won’t die from them.”

“But of shame, probably.”

“Think of it like a rite of passage.” Kyoko shakes her head with a grin. “Into being a fun adult—or whatever.”

“Ugh,” Byakuya says with a slightly disgusted curl to his lips, “I can’t believe it works every damn time.”

“That’s how it is. Makoto will probably be gone a while—traffic is horrible by the intersection,” Kyoko says, closes her phone, the screen fading away to black. She finally stares over at Byakuya directly. “How are you?”

“How are _you?_ ” Byakuya says back with a smirk. “You’re smitten with her.”

“Her?”

“Do you think I’m daft to entertain the idea of you playing dumb?” Byakuya chuckles. “Asahina, obviously.”

Kyoko falters the barest amount as she sits down across him, unfortunately alerting Byakuya to her uneasiness; they’re both one to hold a poker face, it’s only a matter of which had a more broken mask when first worn. “With Hina?” she asks, trying to sound casual. “Hm. Maybe. Maybe not.”

“Oh, _please_.” Byakuya rolls his eyes, then scrutinizes her.

Kyoko finally shifts to face him fully, and finds him with his arms crossed against the tabletop. He’s giving Kyoko a look, analysing, examining, probing. That was more her thing—he’s too predictable. Finally, Kyoko says impatiently, “Spit it out.”

Given permission, he’s still more… wary, than what she’s used to. He says carefully, “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

“What do you mean?”

“With her.” Byakuya allows a moment for comprehension. “Are you—is this really something you’re ready to handle?”

“She’s a girl, not an eldritch being.” She can’t exactly see where he’s coming from, like pursuing a girl is somehow going to send Kyoko spiralling over the edge, descending into chaos. “Last time I checked, you were dating someone, too.”

“That’s different.”

“How so?”

Byakuya furrows his brow. “For once,” he says quietly, genuinely looking concerned. “I’m not trying to be, as you people say and have said, an ‘annoying bitch’. I’m just… worried about you.”

Oh. _Oh._ “Why?” she asks, playing avoidance.

“Because it seems like you like her,” he says, uncharacteristically delicate. “Perhaps more than you should, considering she isn’t…”

She shifts uncomfortably, planting her feet against the floor. “I don’t—I don’t really understand the things you say sometimes.”

“You would know. I’m telling you, there would be a flash. You would _know_ —”

“I don’t.” Kyoko snaps, then sighs. “Sorry. But it’s none of your business.”

She can see him fighting the instinct to snap back, holding his tongue, biting down on words between his teeth. Byakuya’s jaw tightens, lips tilting down; eyes flashing in anger. They both wait in heavy silence, unrelenting, furious, wanting the other to back down first. She hopes it doesn’t come to wordy blows, but, well, that’s the only stress relief they manage, sometimes, really—

—but Byakuya softens, tension dropping from his shoulders, fingers relaxing from fists. He says, “You’re right in that regard,” and sighs, reaching for his wine glass.

Kyoko only blinks. “What?”

“You’re right,” Byakuya repeats. “It’s none of my business.”

Kyoko’s quiet for a second; her phone vibrates in the pocket of her coat. “I’m sorry,” she murmurs, meeting Byakuya halfway, still a bit disdainful. “I know you’re just trying to look out for me like I did for you. But she’s a genuinely good person. You’ve seen it firsthand. I’ll be okay.”

It’s clear Byakuya wants to believe her, and but has to rebut for her sake; there’s a knowledge he claims to possess that Kyoko could never dream of comprehending and it’s very hard to believe: age-old and ancient, a soul complete.

But he only says, “Alright then,” and downs the last of his drink.)

* * *

The ring of her phone comes not as a surprise, but an expectation. There’s no reason behind it, no pre-emptive knowledge other than a feeling; Aoi had been strangely off for a few days, anxious and on-edge, her heart flinging itself against her chest hard enough to bruise. Like it’s telling her there’s somewhere else it needs to be.

She sees the text. _Look outside,_ it says, with Kyoko’s contact name right next to it. 

Aoi blinks, rushes down the hall and opens the door of her shared flat. She leans over the railing to see Kyoko standing outside and under the streetlight of the parking lot, expression somewhat sheepish. Aoi laughs, leaning forward, her pulse already calming.

“Hey,” she says, instantly at ease. “What are you doing here?”

“Hey,” Kyoko says softly. She glances to the ground and up, like she’s afraid of meeting Aoi’s eyes for too long, afraid of what she might find in them. “Sorry. I know I didn’t tell you in advance that I might pass by, but I just—I’ve had a long day.”

Aoi smiles, “It’s okay,” and comes down, rushing across the flight of stairs. She walks towards Kyoko, shivering a bit from the cold as she was in shorts, and reaches out, lightly brushes her bangs away from her forehead, and dips slightly down, over her cheekbone. Kyoko sinks into the touch; she lifts her arm, gently takes Aoi’s hand in hers and presses it against her cheek, comforting. Her skin is warm beneath Aoi’s palm, blood pooling in a blush. “Want to come in? We got snacks and stuff. Hiro’s cooking his favorites tonight.”

“No,” she says, sounding like she wants to say the opposite, reluctant and regretful. “I mean, I do, but I’m tired. And I might do something stupid.”

“Like what?”

She almost smiles, but manages only halfway; her fingers link between Aoi’s, her hand warm in the leather of Kyoko’s glove. “Hina,” she says quietly, “I think you know.”

Aoi does, doesn’t need it said out loud. Her gaze falls to Kyoko’s mouth and back. “Yeah.”

“It’s alright,” Kyoko says, lips tilting up at the corners. “I just wanted to see you for a moment. I should go.”

“If you’re sure,” Aoi says, observing her plainly. She isn’t getting the sense that anything is really wrong; Kyoko’s tired but at peace, content for now. The air is cool and night settles comfortably outside, everything as it should be.

“Hm.” Kyoko steps back, Aoi leans in a bit before they separate entirely. “Thank you.”

“I wanted to see you too,” Aoi says before Kyoko can turn to leave. She utters it like a confession, something she should’ve kept hidden and couldn’t.

Kyoko raises her eyebrows, studies her; finally, she asks, “Why?”

“I don’t know,” Aoi says, awkward and nervous at the admission, rubbing her arms. “I’ve just been feeling kind of weird lately. But I knew I’d feel better if I saw you.”

Kyoko smiles, but it’s gentler, sweeter, on the edge of breaking. “Do you feel better now?”

Aoi thinks of reaching out again, thinks of dragging Kyoko back to her and falling against her mouth, thinks of her lips whispering everything and nothing against her heartbeat. Her blood is quiet and her world is sound. “Yeah,” Aoi says softly. “I feel better.”

“That’s good to know.” Kyoko offers her a soothing smile and nods. “I’ll see you later.”

There’s more Aoi means to say (that Kyoko has a gift for patience, judgement, ingenuity—more than anything else—for twisting the focus on Aoi's lens of the world just so, exactly the perfect amount to sharpen everything around her, enough for her to create, to make things come alive).

I love you, Aoi thinks of telling her. She doesn’t.

* * *

In the morning, Aoi assumes she must have been overwhelmingly tired to think such things, or drugged, or maybe she’d dreamt the entire encounter, anyway. Freak evaporation causes local woman to hallucinate the love of her life in the complex parking lot—or something.

She lies in bed, fingers curling around her pillow, staring at the ceiling. Love is a word that shouldn’t even have been forming in her mind, and there it’d been, waiting, buried, _unearthed_. She shakes herself out of it, chalks it up to exhaustion, and gets on with her day.

She goes to pat her volleyball team on the back before they leave with the main coach this morning for a game with a neighboring city’s big university, but other than that, her morning is mostly uneventful; Hiro goes with her to the flower shop on the afternoon, tells her about the plot of the book he’s reading, the new game he’s playing, and she listens intently while arranging some new arrivals, captivated; it’s not totally up her alley—she’d rather be somewhere else, and she doesn’t know where—but it’s interesting nonetheless. Internally, she hopes Hiro can leave for a bit so she can settle her mind in peace.

“Hey Hiro,” She asks him candidly, twirling a liatris in her hand. “Do you believe in fate?”

“Yeah,” Hiro says, unfazed. “Eh—I mean, I read palms and tell fortunes for a living, you know? So I totally do! And remember those few semesters we had a philosophy unit? I think destiny made up, like, thirty to forty percent of all the discussions there. And I mean, I don’t believe in it for _everything_ —as in, not every single thing we do is predetermined and stuff—but I like to think it exists. You get that?”

“Huh.” Aoi considers the response. “How so?”

“Like, for people,” he continues. “I think it’d be nice if there were people we always found our way back to. Maybe across lifetimes. Different names, same soul business and stuff. It would be really cool.” He gazes aimlessly out at the window, the bustling crowds, the clear moving sky, the birds flying, the array of homes and shops and cafes littering the other side. She wonders if he’s thinking about her and everyone else, wonders if what they have feels anything like what she does. “Like—found family is cool too. But heh, it’s comforting, you know?”

“I know what you mean.” She says solemnly.

“What about you?”

She glances back to the flowers across the shop, and the lilacs mysteriously laying at her shoes, and says, “I don’t know. I didn’t used to.”

They stay quiet for a few seconds and nothing grows. Hiro taps his fingers along the counter idly, also lost in thought; people pass by across the window, in front of them, unconcerned, carefree, simple. He hums in his throat, and finally says, “Some things are just weird and a little beyond explanation, huh?”

“Yeah,” she says, more to herself than him. “You’re right.”

* * *

She and Kyoko opted to go out for a walk a few days later, and lucky to have caught the night weather in better spirits. The air is comfortable, the sky is clear.

Kyoko shows Aoi a page she doesn’t often open for others, lets Aoi trace her fingers along the words and read full paragraphs of things she’s only once alluded to before now. There are things she could show her in return, probably, but the thought feels cheap, and so she stays, lets this moment stay theirs.

Aoi interlaces their fingers and Kyoko lifts her free hand to her mouth, covering her smile, abashed and flustered. They talk and laugh and Aoi tells her about her childhood, her life, her family. She finds it strange, the concept of having to explain any of it at all to her, like Kyoko should already know, like Kyoko should’ve been there.

(My mom, Aoi says. We—we have this thing, you know? She likes growing things too, probably how I got mine but she said I already liked running in fields and gardens and stuff since I can basically walk so it’s not just her influence and—yeah. She likes making things grow. Come alive. I do too.

I wish I met you sooner. We had this old garden that grew the funniest-looking tomato. Don’t know what I would do but, like, I’d definitely show it to you for the heck of it, you get it?

I wish I met you sooner.)

I wish I did, Kyoko says, her eyes dropping to Aoi’s mouth and away.

Aoi pulls her to a halt, tugging on her arm to bring her closer. It’s killing her, feeling the warmth of her body and listening to her voice and touching her skin, and not having any of those things belong to her. Kyoko steps into her space, her expression open, unguarded, almost disbelieving. Aoi brings her hands to Kyoko’s shoulders instead, drawing in; Kyoko’s palms cup her cheeks, and then, and then, _and then_ —

“I want to,” she whispers, her forehead pressing against Aoi’s. “I really want to.”

“So why don’t you?” Aoi asks, enticed by her breath, hot against her lips. The distance is nothing, a tilt of the head, an arch of the neck—

“I keep thinking,” Kyoko says slowly, treading the fine line between recklessness and indecision. “And I think I should give you time to think, too, before I—before I…”

She licks her lips nervously, unsure of how to continue, of how to end; before I kiss you, before I touch you, before I love you. She flutters her eyelashes as if she’s attempting to hold back the barest break of tears, and Aoi understands; she’s afraid and it’s an emotion she’s unused to, like she’s in conflict with herself for even feeling it at all. She’s afraid Aoi will walk away and see her for what she is and find herself repulsed, horrified.

Aoi smiles, slips her fingers between Kyoko’s. She pulls back and says, “Okay,” and Kyoko releases a breath. “I’ll think too.”

“I want us to be sure,” Kyoko murmurs, and there’s affection in her words. More than. “I want us to know.”

But she says _know_ like there’s a story behind it, a secret Aoi’s already in on and hasn’t put together. She says _know_ like she’s waiting for Aoi to catch up, and the fear stems from wondering if she ever will.

_Know what_ , Aoi wants to ask, but she gets the feeling that Kyoko doesn’t have the faintest idea either.

* * *

_(It’s unthinkable, Hades thinks, never letting go of Kore’s hand. I swear this world was made for you.)_

* * *

(Kyoko’s actually at home when she gets a text, an unusual occurrence for her before, but for one person it’s the total opposite; it’s not that she doesn’t enjoy being alone, but more as if she’d rather be alone with something beautiful. Something that can speak to her, something tangible, something that doesn’t fade away beneath her hands.

It’s late, just after ten, but not late enough that she can’t justify going out again if the silence starts to eat at her.

Her phone vibrates again, realizing it’s a stream of messages being sent to her; it’s such a foreign concept to her that it takes her a moment of fumbling to answer, barely even checking the contact.

_Hey!_ Aoi’s name and message reads at the top of the screen. _Want to go out tomorrow? I got cash. This café Sayaka told me about serves this really good sandwich I want to try so bad._

Kyoko smiles widely, teeth digging into her bottom lip, trying not to laugh; her chest feels like it may blow itself open. She clicks on the call button and Aoi immediately responds, “Hi,” Kyoko says, happiness evident in her tone, and then, “Not tomorrow. I’m coming over now.”

_“Now? Really? It’s ten!”_ Aoi laughs, betraying her excitement.

“Not my problem,” Kyoko answers wryly, already slipping on her boots. “Give me twenty minutes.”

_“Twenty? Are you serious?”_

“Yes.”

“ _Okay. Okay. I’ll—wait, but that place closed at nine though.”_ She giggles, and Kyoko’s heart warms at the sound.

“I’ll take you somewhere better,” she says. “Wait for me.”

_“I—yeah. Yeah. Okay.”_

She hangs up, nearly runs outside into the night, and she swears the grass is talking to her, the moon is laughing, every star is lit in an applause. She’s never started a car faster in her life.

Aoi is leaning against a lamppost when Kyoko arrives, arms propped up behind her head, humming to the song she’s listening to from her earbuds. She smiles and takes them off when she catches sight of Kyoko opening the door, and Kyoko mirrors her expression, crooking a finger playfully and beckoning her forward.

“What the heck,” Aoi giggles. “Stop that—you look silly.”

“Come with me,” Kyoko says.

“Where to?”

“Somewhere.”

“So you have no idea either?” Aoi says dryly, already opening the door. “I get that.”)

* * *

_Hades is wise. Hades is beautiful. And Hades must have known, but she doesn't bring it up._

_“And here you are,” Kore smiles, teasing, staring. There are roses growing around Hades’ feet. Hades smiles at them, looks at her with a knowing eye._

_“Here I am, indeed.”_

_“King of the Underworld, let me ask you one last time,” Kore begins. “What is it like being untouchable?”_

_Hades, who likes this name and predates time and all living things by aeon and millennia, does not just say,_

_“I am not.”_

_She also says, “Let me show you.”_

* * *

Kyoko takes her hand, but Aoi runs ahead and leads them through the woods a few ways outside the city, familiar somehow, but not at the same time. They empty into a clearing, though this one without the buzz of the busy city; Aoi thinks they are here in deep, but in a way, she knows her way back.

Kyoko steps forward, Aoi’s hand slipping from her grasp, and breathes in deep. She exhales contentedly, peaceful, landscape extending serenely in front of them. She turns back, smiles.

Aoi smiles back, gesturing her with a jerk of her head.

“I think you were going to take me a few ways up—but I kind of know this place,” she says, grinning. “You’ll like it here. You got to take a seat.”

“It’s wet,” Kyoko points out, tasting the dampness of the air.

“Sure, I’ll go force the ground to grow you a nice patch of grass,” Aoi says sarcastically, plopping down without a care. “Now take a seat, you nerd.”

Kyoko laughs softly, lowering herself down beside Aoi. “To clarify,” she says. “I recently did laundry; I care about getting my clothes wet.”

Aoi snickers. “You sat down anyway.” She pulls Kyoko closer to her, hugging her arm and resting her head on her shoulder. Kyoko sighs before she can stop herself, relaxing into her touch automatically, ghosts her lips over the crown of Aoi’s hair before pulling away a bit.

“Okay,” Kyoko says, instantly calm, soothed. “I’m waiting.”

Aoi moves a bit, shifts, puts her lips to the shell of Kyoko’s ear. “Look up,” she says, Kyoko visibly shuddering at the warmth of her breath before she does so and Aoi pulls away.

“It’s beautiful,” Kyoko breathes out, then smiles. “It’s… nice here.”

“I thought you’d like to see it from here,” Aoi tells her with a gentle laugh, and—she really can’t help herself, dropping a kiss to Kyoko’s cheek. Kyoko’s fingers tighten around her wrist. “Sorry,” she whispers. “Can’t help it.”

“It’s okay,” Kyoko says with a shy smile, and Aoi thinks of turning them towards each other and kissing her right then, lowering her back against the grass. She doesn’t. The sight in front of her is too fleeting to look away from, too important to disrupt. “I don’t mind.”

They lapse into silence, happy to sit together and watch the world shift slowly through the movement of the stars.

“Actually, I got a question,” Aoi says, tilting her to the side, stopping for a bit, admiring the length of Kyoko’s eyelashes, the bridge of her nose, her jawline.

“Go ahead,” Kyoko says, only a hint of nervousness underlying her tone. She keeps her eyes trained in front of her, one hand curling against the grass, supporting her, the other still resting on Aoi’s hand.

“Do you ever get a feeling that—like—I don’t know, we’ve known each other _forever_ and stuff?” Aoi asks.

Kyoko’s quiet for a moment; she hums a bit, looking down at the grass. Everything in the area sways with a breeze that wasn’t there seconds previously.

“There are many names in history,” Kyoko says quietly. “Perhaps some of them, we had once.”

Aoi blinks, then laughs. “What, like, reincarnation or something?”

Kyoko shakes her head with a fond smile. “Reincarnation, or common interpretation of it, implies we are born and eventually develop with the same stream of consciousness, behavior and experiences as the previous life. History’s not a thread, but a river, and we can’t step in the same river twice. I don’t think that’s the case here.”

“Then,” she purses her lips, only vaguely understanding her explanation but still getting the meaning anyway. “Why me? Why me of all people?”

Kyoko thinks again, and Aoi lets her.

“You,” Kyoko finally murmurs, and smiles softly. “There’s just _something_ about you.”

Aoi doesn’t kiss her, and Kyoko doesn’t expect her to. Everything somehow feels perfect anyway.

* * *

It’s Sunday when she sees Kyoko again, though she almost misses the knock from the entrance door over the pounding of the rain. She opens, raising an eyebrow. Kyoko’s standing in front of her as dry and untouched as if the sun is shining down on her rather than the entire ocean falling from the sky.

“Come outside,” she says with a smile Aoi would brave a flood for.

“I mean—shit, I _love_ water but like, what the hell.” Aoi laughs. “Seriously? How did you even get here without at least one drop on you?”

“Fate.” Kyoko says ominously, this one, a joke.

Aoi laughs again. “Nerd.”

Kyoko only rolls her eyes. “Is that all?” She asks. “You’re fine. Come outside.”

She pulls a face. “Did you listen to a word I said? It’s crazy out there.”

“No. Just,” Kyoko sighs, “trust me.”

“You know,” Aoi says, glancing up at the ominously dark clouds, or what she could see from the door, at least. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Mhm,” Kyoko reasons blankly, “Maybe you could will it to like—stop, or something. Like what you can do with grass.”

Aoi cackles. “If I could, I would’ve done that some time ago.”

“Anyways,” Kyoko says again. “Come outside, please. Trust me.”

Aoi bites the inside of her lip, considers her carefully. Kyoko doesn’t even say anything, do anything with her face, but Aoi relents. “Eh, fine.” She says at last, giving in. Like she’d ever really planned on dismissing Kyoko for long, anyway. “Could be fun.”

She takes an umbrella at the side of the door, makes a big show of pulling on the raincoat she’s taken from the corridor and lacing up her boots, and Kyoko only rolls her eyes with a smile. Aoi grins when her back is turned. “Looks like I don’t need to tell you about that,” Kyoko says, still standing outside the door.

“I wasn’t taking any chances,” Aoi answers, tying the last lace into a neat ribbon. Hiro catches her when he turns from the living room where he and Sayaka were watching some martial arts flick, raising his eyebrows.

“What the hell?” He says. “You’re going _outside_ in this weather?”

“Oh, the things we do for love,” Sayaka says playfully from his side, and Aoi throws her a dirty look. “Splashing puddles in the rain together—it’s like straight out of a romance movie. Your girlfriend’s such a romantic.”

“I don’t know what she has planned,” Aoi shrugs with a chuckle. “And she’s not my girlfriend.”

“Sure,” Sayaka says sarcastically.

“I’m right here.” Kyoko reminds them.

“Well, it’s kind of cute,” Hiro says, but looks at Kyoko and waves his hand back and forth in an _‘I’m watching you’_ motion. “But don’t end up doing anything I wouldn’t do.”

“Hey,” Sayaka says, smacking the back of his head lightly, “if you say that, then they won’t do anything. You got to let it happen if you want them to develop and stuff!”

“Anyway,” Hiro turns back to her, “tell your girlfriend that she better watch you or she’s going to get the shovel talk from me.”

“I’m still right here.” Kyoko drawls.

“She’s not my—oh my god, whatever,” Aoi says, giving up. She knows they’re not actually going to stop. “I’m going out now.”

They wave her off, and she shuts the front door closed, slipping out onto the hall and waving around her umbrella. Kyoko’s leaning against the wall next to her, and she’s looking at her with a probing stare, having clearly overheard every word. Aoi sighs. “Don't.”

“Girlfriend,” she says flatly and with a blink. “I didn’t know we’d made it that far, but I’m not against the idea.”

“I never would have guessed,” Aoi says, teasing. “You? With a crush on me? This is like, the first time I’m hearing about it.”

“Hm, I tried very hard to keep it a secret,” Kyoko says dryly, and Aoi’s mouth softens into a smile; there’s something about Kyoko she can’t resist, something underneath her skin and muscle and bone that doesn’t allow for hesitation, regardless of how frequent. “However, I never actually said I have a crush on you.”

“I keep on asking you out, and you’re not stopping me.” Aoi points out. “You’re not very subtle.”

“Right,” Kyoko says, flipping Aoi’s hood off her head. She laughs. “I don’t have practice.”

“I don’t get a lot of practice dating either.”

“Who’d resist you?” Kyoko asks, and Aoi stares at her, cheeks beginning to grow warm. She continues nonchalantly, “Grow them a garden. Give them flowers that suit them. They’ll like you.”

“Grow them a garden,” Aoi repeats humorously, stepping out into the rain. “I’ll keep that in mind in case I get magical powers.” She glances back, realizing Kyoko isn’t following her. “What are you waiting for?”

“Sorry, you keep distracting me.” Kyoko says casually.

“You—you,” Aoi starts, mouth opening and closing like a fish. “You literally don’t care about what comes out of your mouth now, do you?”

“Sorry,” Kyoko only says half-heartedly. Aoi makes a big show of letting out a sigh, but holds her hand out anyway.

Kyoko reaches out, interlaces their fingers, and steps to her side; Aoi shuts her eyes automatically, feeling the repeating pelts of the water, and strangely, the rain settles to a weaker rhythm, like it was letting them have their moment. She laughs, and Kyoko’s watching her, smile slipping back across her face. The rain still pours around them, pours over them too, but they don’t give a damn.

“Is it fun yet?” Kyoko asks wryly, leading them forward.

“To be fair, anyone else with a functional brain would have stayed inside,” Aoi argues mildly. “Second of all, we’re both weird. It’s a learning curve.”

Kyoko seems to give her that. “Well, you’ll just have to trust me,” she says, “and follow a bit.”

She laughs, barely heard over the rain, but she does so anyway.

* * *

Aoi exhales, grinning. “So where are we going?” she asks instead, trying not to focus on the fact that they’re still holding hands.

“Where you would feel right at home.” Kyoko says, tossing her a shy glance. “Somewhere beautiful.”

Aoi grips her fingers a little tighter, taken aback by the compliment; Kyoko keeps walking steadily over the slippery paths, doesn’t mention the change in pressure, like she’s letting Aoi adjust and breathe. “Maybe,” Aoi admits, and sighs to herself, hoping the sound is hidden underneath the rain. “But I think I already feel at home, anyway.”

Kyoko smiles, eyes averted down, the pulse at her wrist beating against Aoi’s palm. She’s blushing slightly; the sight of it has Aoi’s mind running wild, which is the way it always seems to run these days, wondering what that blush would look like if Aoi kissed her. She doesn’t say anything more, just allows Kyoko to lead her on to the clearing situated at the park they frequent.

Kyoko glances at her. “Puddles,” she says, and steps on a small one to prove her point, and Aoi giggles, steps on it too.

“Wow,” she breathes out. “So you just brought me out here to splash me with _puddles?_ ”

“Well,” Kyoko says idly. “I wanted to live a little.”

Aoi laughs.

It’s no different than from a distant memory she has, with her, much younger, chasing a familiar sound she’d heard before giving up and prancing around in the rain by then; except at the end of this one is the clap of lightning from miles away. It’s still raining, the ground wet and clumpy beneath their boots, patches of grass poking out. Kyoko looks up, looks around, and Aoi does, too. And she suddenly gets the image of an edge of a cliff overlooking the ocean, and a storm swirling low and steady, beyond the shores of a beach spanning for miles and miles.

Electricity crackles in the air; her mouth tastes like salt and ash and dusts of old age, and there’s the flicker of a dream, Kyoko standing underneath the towering calamity with a smile, the sea a beguiling black.

“Wow, look at that.” Aoi says, captivated. Lightning seems to be striking in the distance at random, quick intervals, like signals, like signs. Like the flash of something meaningful. Fissures. Fire. Something that grows.

“Maybe we should go,” Kyoko says, leaning close to her ear to be heard over the roar of the storm. “Or do you want to stay?”

“You’re the one who brought me out here,” Aoi points out.

Kyoko allows a small smile. “I did,” she agrees. “But I want to stay, do you?”

“Why not?” Aoi asks, staring out; the sky seems to swirl like whirlpools, and the back of her neck tingles, her throat tight. “Did you like, predict this would happen or something? You’re a PI, not a meteorologist.”

“It’s just a feeling,” Kyoko says, raising and dropping her shoulders in lieu of a true answer. “A feeling that I know is right.”

Aoi tilts her head at that, catches Kyoko’s eye, her silver hair whipping around her in the wind, her lips red from the slight chill of the biting air. “Yeah,” Aoi breathes out, angling her body towards Kyoko. “Somehow, I kind of get what you mean.”

Kyoko looks at her then, really looks at her, doesn’t turn away or run; she lets it be, lets Aoi draw close to her with expectation, insinuation. And she’s staring at Aoi like she’s gone, like she loves her, like she’s given up. It will rain, she’s saying, there’s the sound of thunder, there’s the clap of lightning. It reminds me of something. (You.)

“Oh, fuck it.” Aoi murmurs, too close, too close, too close, too close. “We’re done here.”

Kyoko raises an eyebrow curiously, mouth curled bemusedly. “Done with what?”

“The act—or whatever,” Aoi says, barely able to concentrate on her words. “I can’t take it anymore.”

“What?” Kyoko furrows her brows. “Are you sure?”

Aoi’s tongue darts out, sweeps across her bottom lip. “Trust me,” she says. “Follow my lead.”

Kyoko stares at her a moment longer, contemplating, and then smiles; the rain pours, keeps on pouring, rolling off the sleeves of their coats, down their backs; Aoi reaches out, fists Kyoko’s jacket in her hands, pulls her forward and kisses her.

It isn’t wavering but it’s gentle; her lips press softly against Kyoko’s for a brief moment, and then she pulls away and ghosts over her, mouths barely brushing until Aoi works up the nerve to kiss her again. Kyoko seems to go slack from the shock, unmoving, but her eyelids flutter closed automatically; another second and her palms slip across Aoi’s cheeks, wet and damp from rain, and then she’s kissing Aoi back, lips tender and gentle and confident and yielding. It doesn’t feel like a first kiss, barely even feels like a second or a third; there’s something painfully familiar about it, the way Kyoko sighs into her mouth, Aoi’s fingers moving to tangle in her hair, how she tastes like copper and fire, and there’s the image of flowers blooming beneath their feet.

The sky cracks open above them, lightning weaving through the clouds like conduits from the sky and never striking. Kyoko pulls her closer, keeps kissing her, and she kisses back just as much.

She barely minds the rain at all.

* * *

_(Mortals tell tales about them, before their story is finished._

_Time is odd like that when you are immortal and infinite. Beginnings and ends and middles get jumbled in a way that they never make the slightest sense for those who have a life to live in a linear manner._

_But time does not touch the unending, so maybe it’s enough for now._

_After all, what harm can human words have on the gods?)_

**Author's Note:**

> and that's a wrap for 1! i'll be taking this end note away when the second part is uploaded, but for now you get my rambling.
> 
> \- i use kore because this is persephone's name before she goes to the underworld. it's not a known side of the myth, but i happen to come across it once and i liked the sound of it. think maiden name. felt like pointing that out. i'm not gonna say much regarding this because plot.
> 
> \- i adore the idea of byakuya rebelling against the ideals of his family. or well, the unsavory parts of them, at least. think weiss schnee from rwby. i've always felt that being raised into thinking a certain way and being told that you were being groomed for this one explicit purpose without any say and agency, and for him to follow this path instead of straying from it is rather... hm. so here he is! he is still proud, bc obviously byakuya is nothing if not born from pride, but proud of rather different things instead. ofc, you can dislike that, but this is a non-talent au though, so this is one that can exist. 
> 
> \- kyoko's quote in the summary is a tiny nod and reference to richard silken’s little beast (there are many names in history, none of them are ours), but since you’re reading lesbian fanfic on ao3, you’ve probably seen his name somewhere. 
> 
> \- i had about... 24 greek myty references open for this chapter but i used only like, what, ten? haha. the title changed around also ten times before i decided on one word. 
> 
> \- thank you so much for reading! kudos and comments aren't required of you, but are appreciated.


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